Shadow Song
by WolfsongDarkforest
Summary: A year before the fellowship is created, Lord Elrond finds a less than welcome surprise: a strange wolf, half drowned and close to death, bleeding all over his doorstep. But as she heals, her past becomes apparent, as does a streak of loyalty no one ever expected from a werewolf. But when she is chosen to join the fellowship, will they ever accept her?(Title/Rating may change)
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first fanfiction ever, so reviews would be ****very**** helpful. I don't mind people pointing out flaws (and there will be some, I'm posting without a beta), but I don't want to hear about how horrible it is. No flames, please. **

**Disclaimer: anything that you recognise from LOTR belongs to Tolkien. I do, however, claim the rights to my characters and the race of NightSong elves.**

**I played around with the history of the werewolves, just a little bit, so that it fit my story, 'cause Tolkien did not leave any room for good werewolves, or breeds. Also, I am quite unfamiliar with most of Tolkien's characters, especially Glorfindel. If I messed up, help me un-mess up, please. **

"This is someone talking out loud."-"_This is someone speaking telepathically."-This is someone thinking._

Chapter 1

Western edge of Mirkwood, nearing the edge of the Misty Mountain range

Rain fell in heavy sheets from the dark sky; the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the tops of the trees, but provided no light under the thick canopy of the ancient oaks, pines and maples. The icy wind howled, carrying the screams of orcs as they swarmed beneath the sighing boughs. A black and silver she-wolf, abnormally tall and lithely shaped, paced just ahead of the enraged pack. She dashed and wove, turning right and left, trying to find a way to bypass the mob, but every time she got near the flanks, the orcs would shoot a few arrows at her, and turn her back to their path. Some of the arrows struck home, and each one brought a cry of pain from the beautiful creature, as she threw her head back and up, her legs skittering, but never breaking pace. She knew with her whole body that if she were to turn back and face the hordes, she would not survive. So she raced on, as fast as her weary legs could run, sometimes leaping over obstacles, or turning to look over her shoulder at the approaching enemy.

The orcs turned, angling the hunt towards a gorge. The sound of running water reached long, pointed ears as they neared the river, the name of which she knew only later, though the scent was familiar to her. The wolf skidded to a stop a few feet from the edge, and glanced around. The canyon was too wide even for her to jump across, and the orcs pressed in on the sides to prevent her from running alongside the river. The water itself was deep but full of large boulders. The cliffs were shear and devoid of any ledges or out-crops.

The orcs poured through the trees, stomping saplings and breaking low branches. The she-wolf whined through her nose, high and whistley, to hear the trees crying their pain to any who would listen. As the orcs moved in closer, they drew their weapons and started shouting obscenities. The she-wolf snarled, swinging her head back and forth, thick hackles raised and tail puffed, glaring her hatred at the monstrosities. Surrounded on three sides by orcs and to the back by a large, water-filled canyon, she had nowhere to go. She stood tall, not cowering, and pricked her ears forward. She bared her teeth further, the full five and a half inches showing through the pink gums. Her eyes glinted with angry metallic fire. Only the quiver in her unusually long and dexterous tail gave away her fear and exhaustion. Her rumbling snarl made the thunder sound weak, to the orcs at least. They were not expecting their quarry to have such a change of heart.

Somewhat wary, the orcs made a hasty change of plans. They ushered the archers to the front lines, and on the leaders command they, all twenty three that were left, drew and knocked an arrow. The orc leader, a large Uruk-Hai with an old scar slashing through the place where his left eye had been, stared lopsidedly into the wolf's pupil less, swirling copper eyes as he gave the command to aim. At the harsh word, the she-wolf laid her ears back and lowered her lips a little bit. The orcs weren't the only ones who could have a change of plan.

She glanced quickly around. It was the only warning the orcs got before she leaped.

Off the edge of the ravine.

The Uruk shouted "Fire!" as soon as her feet left the ground, but the only reward the orcs got was a muffled thump and a pained yelp as the huge black creature disappeared over the side of the cliff. They all rushed to the edge to see if it was still alive, but in those few seconds, the wolf was swept downstream, out of bow range, and the disappointed orcs could see the she-wolf swimming in a cloud of bloody, vibrant blue-purple water, heading towards a no-go place that any orc in its right mind knew to avoid: Rivendell, one of the last havens of the elves.

* * *

The wolf swam for hours, the rain and river making it hard for her to hear when the rocks would rear out of the water. As a result, she got jostled quite badly. Evert time she crashed into one of the large stones, arrows would drive in deeper and snap, leaving the poor animal crying and gasping, and choking on water.

Eventually, the river grew calmer, and the rocks fewer. When her feebly churning paws reached the bottom of the riverbed at the Bruinen ford, she could barely drag herself out of the water. Her sodden fur hung heavy on her, the water running off cobalt blue from the arrow wounds to her neck, abdomen, haunches and shoulders. Her slender frame was wracked with shivers and she stumbled away from the river. She had escaped the orcs, but she wasn't out of danger yet. Her only hope lay with the elves.

She limped slowly, painfully up the path to Rivendell. Dawn was not far off, and a warm wind made her feel un-naturally sleepy. When she reached the slender elf-bridge that spanned a deep, rocky stream bed, she paused for a moment to gather her strength before dashing across. The effort left her panting, which turned to hacking as she walked on towards the city that stood glistening, to her eyes, in the pale, pre-dawn light.

The sun was just cresting the peaks, touching the broken up clouds with pale purple and gold and rose pink when the wolf finally collapsed with a whimper to the smooth cobblestones outside the pearly gates. It was only moments later that the Twins, who had come to open the gates, first found her lying there, bleeding all over their doorstep.

* * *

"Lord Elrond, come quickly! Your medical assistance is urgently needed!" Identical twins Eladan and Elrohir charged through the door to their fathers' library. Elrond looked up from his book quickly.

"Where? What is wrong?" he said urgently, his ageless face showing alarm and concern. It was only just sunrise, and someone had hurt himself badly already? He hoped it wasn't an omen for what the rest of his day would look like.

"The outer gate," Elrohir said hurriedly. "Please hurry, Adar!" Eladan finished for his twin. "It's an emergency!" they both yelled over their shoulders as they dashed back down the hall to find Glorfindel and the other healers. Elrond rushed to get the medical kit from the desk across the room, quickly dog-earing his page. It was an unspoken agreement between the three, if the twins used the word 'emergency' in a sentence, then it really was an emergency. His robes and hair fluttered out behind him as he dashed down the hall towards the gate.

Elrond skidded to a stop in surprise just around the bend of the gate. Lying on its side in a slowly spreading pool of its own strange blood, barely breathing except to make a high pitched whine of canine agony, was the single largest wolf Elrond Half-Elven had ever seen. Larger even than the wargs that the goblins sometimes rode, the beast in front of him was easily as big as one of the largest horses in the stable. It was far more beautiful than any warg either, with silver tipped ebony fur covering it thickly, particularly around the neck, back and tail. It was proportioned oddly too, with big, slanted eyes, a long, tapered and sharply pointed snout, large ears, long, slender legs, a body shaped more like a racing hound than a wolf, and a tail like a very furry cats. It was clearly alive, but fading fast. The in-breaths it took grated and rattled, clearly full of fluid, and watery blue-purple blood trickled from its nose and mouth. Its fur was damp from being in the river, but oddly enough, there were fresh tear tracks flattening the fur of its cheeks, a totally unheard-of trait in any of the Less-Sentient races.

Elrond snapped himself out of his shock. In three quick strides, he was beside the animals head, which was nearly as wide as his shoulders. Its eyes followed his movements blearily, as though it could not see, but wanted to desperately. He knelt by the beasts neck, placing a comforting hand on the powerful shoulder and whispering soothing nothings to it. He ran his hands over the long front legs, feeling for breaks or sprains. He knew very well that there were many worse and more serious wounds that needed urgent attention, but they would have to go elsewhere to treat them. He needed to see if the wolf could walk at all. To his dismay, the right foreleg was shattered in at least three places. When Elrond gently touched the fractures, the wolf cried.

"_No! Do not touch! Too much pain!"_ Elrond jumped. She (her voice was unmistakeably female) had spoken with telepathy, strait to his mind. It was an almost unheard of trait, even among the elves. She hadn't spoken like that in a long time, either, for her sentences were un-formed.

The twins arrived, trailing Glorfindel and three healers and apprentices. They all had expressions of shock on their face, Glorfindel's likely the greatest. "Werewolf," he whispered, shaking his blonde head. "I thought they were all gone."

"Werewolf?" Elrond turned to face them, standing up as he did so.

"Be wary, my lord," Glorfindel shifted forward and to the side, circling to the she-wolfs back. "They are extremely aggressive."

"And horribly wounded. Relax, friend, and help me move her." The healers, and the apprentice, rushed to unfold a large tarp. They talked softly to themselves as they worked, about Glorfindel's reaction to the 'werewolf', whatever that meant.

Once the tarp was spread and strung between two long poles, all seven elves dragged the she-wolf to the blankets laid out in the middle, to provide support. As Glorfindel warned Elrond, she weighed very little, no more than a solidly built human. She was long, though, so even when the elves hefted the poles onto their shoulders, her head, tail and hind feet were nearly dragging the ground.

* * *

(three days later, dusk, the healing houses)

"So, what makes a werewolf, a werewolf?" Elrond finally asked Glorfindel. For all his vast knowledge, it appeared that there were holes, and he felt compelled to fill them.

"Hmm," Glorfindel said distractedly, and he looked up from his seat by the fireplace, lifting his chin from his hand and meeting Elrond's eyes. "I don't understand the question. Do you want to know how they were born? Or what sets them apart the other races?"

Elrond nodded his head thoughtfully, and then said, "Both. I want to know all that you know."

So Glorfindel went on to tell the story of the werewolves, explaining that in the first Age of Sun, there came a race of tortured spirits who were the thralls of Melkor. He was not sure whether they were Maiar spirits who once served Melkor in Utumno and were shorn by the Valar from their earthly forms, or if they were evil beings of another kind. He suspected that they were actually captured peoples of the different races, elves, dwarves and Men. He knew for a fact, though, that these evil spirits entered the form of wolves through sorcery. A great holocaust, a mass conversion spell, turned any soul who harboured any malice towards the goodly races into a wolf /original form monster.

In wolf form, he said animatedly, gesturing with his hands, they were as large as bulls, and considerably stronger, serving as the cavalry of Saurons first army. In their humanoid form, which they could return to at will, they were taller than even the tallest of their races standards, and stronger. They maintained several wolfish traits while in the weaker form: their canine teeth were always sharp, and they had full mobility of their ears. Their eyes were also unchanged, still glowing with evil. They could growl and snarl, and still behaved much like wolves, even to the point of it not mattering what shape they were in, they would fight each other for leadership. While in wolf form, they also maintained traits from the other side: a dwarf spirit might be stouter and red furred, and maybe a bit uglier. An elf spirit might have gold fur, be more lithely shaped, with a horrible beauty about them. And a Man might be heavier built, stronger than an elf spirit, but taller than a dwarf.

Glorfindel reminded Elrond, "We fought them in the war of the ring, remember?" The younger lord did, now that he thought about it. The great beasts had been exceedingly difficult to kill, taking hard hits without flinching, and running through the ranks of elves and men. But the creature lying at their feet, flanked out on the stones of the healing houses floor, did not totally fit the description Glorfindel had given. Size, yes. Power, he had yet to see her in action, but he suspected yes. Evil? No, or the river would never have let her up to the gates. The general form would fit the description of a much exaggerated elf spirit, but the proportions were wrong in the tail, body and legs. And her half-open eyes were not glowing at all. They were bright emerald green, unusual anywhere, but not impossible. And anyway, he knew of no elves that had silver-black hair. He shook his head slightly and watched her breathing, heavy with a fever and pneumonic illness.

It had taken himself, Glorfindel, the Twins and no less than thirteen healers to remove thirty six deeply embedded and shattered arrows, set three broken bones, and repair the damage done to her lungs. Elrond was amazed that the she-wolf was even alive. She had been through an extreme bout of trauma, exhaustion and pain, then lost nearly a third of the blood in her body. Glorfindel didn't show it, but he was surprised, too. Many a wolf had died at their hands, from far lesser wounds. This one wanted to live.

They both started when, four hours after sunset, the she-wolf groaned. The two elves had been quietly considering whether their vigil would turn into a death watch, and contemplating retiring to their beds, when she became suddenly active. Her long legs scrabbled at the ground, and she twisted her head back, making a painful keening whine through her nose.

"Seizure?" Glorfindel asked Elrond urgently, moving to stand up.

"No," Elrond was confused. The symptoms were almost those of a seizure, but victims couldn't make any sounds further than muffled grunting, and it only happened to those with a bad head injury. "I don't know what's wrong."

He stepped forward, keeping low behind her back. The she-wolfs ears were almost flat to her ruff; her head was thrown so far back. Elrond placed a hand on her heaving flanks, trying to get a feel for what was going on.

"_Cover me,"_ Elrond nearly leaped out of his skin, he was so startled. "_It's just the change, I'm fine, but in less than an hour, I will be in quite a compromising state. Please, cover me."_ She was pleading, at the end. Elrond looked at Glorfindel in amazement, and terror. The golden haired warrior was already holding a heavy crochet blanket. He threw it over her body, and all they all breathed a sigh of relief that it was large enough to cover the ground around her. With one last shiver and a deep sigh, she lay still. Elrond gently placed a hand under her muzzle and the other under her ear and moved her head to a more natural angle from her shoulders. Her fur was so soft, like glistening black down. She was still warm, but no longer feverish. Her alert eyes were soft with gratitude.

"_Thank you…_" she said, softly, as her eyelids fluttered sleepily. Elrond and Glorfindel both smiled faintly, but both flinched as a loud crack sounded from under the blanket. The she-wolf cried quietly, but said "_I'm fine. It hurts, but I'm fine._" Both men figured that she would know best, so they trusted her words.

What she said was true; fifty three minutes later, her shape wan almost elf-like. Both males winced in shared pain when they heard her spine crackling, and then with a final shudder of relief, she lay still. She didn't appear to have completed the change, though. Her skin was as black as her under-fur had been, and her hands had only three fingers and a thumb. She had four toes, too, and her heels clearly functioned the same way a wolf's did. She panted for a moment, her exposed fangs half as long as they were, but still jagged like a bread knife, then rolled on to her side and curled into a ball, pulling the blanket tight around her. Tears the colour of liquid gold rolled over her sharp cheekbones and fell to the floor. She lay like that for a long time.

Dawn was seven hours from arriving when she sighed in mild annoyance and flicked the blanket off her shoulders. She sat up, sitting cross legged on the ground, and pulled the heavy material around her like a shawl, leaving her arms free. She reached behind her neck and pulled her hair free. It glistened metallic silver in the light of the fire, and was very long. She dropped her hands back to her lap, and Glorfindel and Elrond could see them shaking. She rested with her head bowed for a moment, then made the move she had intended from the beginning. She lifted her long, four jointed fingers towards her ears, which were hidden by her heavy tresses, and freed them of her glinting, metallic silver hair.

If it was possible, the two males looked even more surprised. Her ears were nearly two feet long, curving gently to rest near her lower back. Neither of them had ever seen the likes of this creature, and they could only be described as 'flabbergasted'.

"Elrond," Glorfindel's voice quivered. "I'm going to bed now. Good night." He stood and walked shakily off through the side door, leaving it open.

"Wimp." Elrond called softly after his retreating form. He looked back at the… thing, and decided on the most important questions to ask right now, before he, too, fled to his rooms.

"What manor of creature are you?" he asked, his voice faint with emotions he had not felt in many years.

"Werewolf," she whispered through her fangs. Her voice held a strangely beautiful accent. "You called me so yourself." Elrond frowned, furrowing his brow. "But right now, I am a NightSong Elf."

"What should I call you?" he didn't ask her name, because some races had names that spanned many generations.

"You needn't worry, Lord Elrond. Our names are short enough for your comfort. I am named ShadowSong in your language. Raksha in mine. Call me by either." Right. She was a mind reader. And, though she spoke clearly, she was overly exhausted. One last question.

"The change, did it pull any of the sutures? I'm aware that the bandages are off, but I need to know if there are any open wounds before I leave." He had seen the way her bones had bulged and shifted under the blanket, and couldn't imagine the tiny threads holding through.

"I'm fine. Could I maybe have another blanket, though? Before you leave?" her gold streaked face was hollow looking, and she swayed slightly where she sat. Elrond quickly found another heavy blanket and unfolded it partially, then laid it on the ground. He gestured with his hand for her to lie there, and then walked slowly to the closet room. He found a large woolen blanket and brought it with him back to the comparatively dark recovery room. Raksha was on the blanket, curled on her side with her head between her legs. She breathed softly and evenly, but when he entered, her ears twitched and she bent her neck to look at him. Elrond held the blanket out to her, and she quickly had it spread over herself.

He turned and left, then, making his way through the white stone halls and archways that made up most of Rivendell. The night was warm, and he was tired. He would have one of the women find something for Raksha to wear, then go to sleep.

* * *

**I apologies for any broken paragraphs; I tried to fix them, but it may or may not have worked.**

**please, do review. I need feed-back! **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Raksha awoke early in the morning, the sound of orcs crying for her blood still echoing around in her head. She had dreamed that she was back in Mirkwood, pressed up to the cliff, but this time the orcs were not ugly. They were terribly beautiful High elves, a smaller, light version of the NightSong elves. Each of the archers was a figure from her past; her best friend, who had been killed in front of her eyes as a young child of six thousand years, the healer who had given her a tincture to supress her abilities. The many, many guards who had kept her under lock and key for a large portion of her thirty-two thousand years of life. And the Uruk… he was the only visitor she had gotten… and she did not want to think on that, for fear of being unhinged. God, she hated these nightmares. They never happened when she was a wolf, living in the wild on her own. It had something to do with the wolfs' brain shape, not being able to hold comprehensive memories. She could remember everything still, but it was 'filed away' in a neat manner, the way of a top predator, and couldn't float around in her head to terrorize her dreams.

Elrond's footsteps echoed around the honeycomb rooms of the healing houses, making her vision distort in a strange, somewhat dizzying manner. Even though she healed very fast, she was still low on blood. And being blind was no good if your equilibrium is off. Echolocation can only get you so far. She held her head in her hands, trying to sooth the pounding headache that had started up in her temples.

"How are you this morning?" Lord Elrond asked, softly enough that it did not aggravate her pain. She flicked her ears at him.

"Bad headache… I'm fine. The stitches are good to come out tomorrow. Do you have any water?" Water would help. Lots of water.

"Just a second." He turned back through the door. The past few days, she had been delirious, slipping in and out of consciousness, so she hadn't gotten a good echo on him. But now, in the stone rooms that bounced sound so clearly, she saw him well.

"No!" she cried, throwing herself backwards, away from him, the one from her dreams, the one from the Otherworld.

"Raksha? What's wrong?!" Elrond spun in alarm at her shout. He took a step back towards her.

"No! Stay back! You were dead, you were dead, I killed you, how can you be back…" She rambled on, verily shaking in terror. Her beautiful copper eyes, so much larger than any Elrond had ever seen, flicked around as though looking for something that was not there. Her long black ears, trailing strands of silver hair, twitched all over the place, picking up every little sound, even his heartbeat. Worried that he might disturb her further, he left quickly to find Arwen. She could deal with the psychotic creature. He was too far out of his depth for his own comfort.

He found his daughter right where he knew she would be, on the balcony adjoining her room.

"My daughter, I need your help."

"Ada, what could you possibly need my help for?" Arwen was clearly shocked that her dad would come to her for help. He was by far wiser on all fronts.

"I have a female patient in the recovery room who is not wearing any clothing and thinks I should be dead. I need you to talk to her. And bring a really long dress with you." Elrond dropped his head to his daughters shoulder. "Be careful. She is very unpredictable, and strange. And sometimes a wolf." Arwen looked at her father and took a step back.

"Uhh… what makes you think I can deal with her better than any other healer?" She was doubtful, of her own ability and her father's sanity.

"You're a calming influence, and a woman. Apparently she doesn't like men. Please, daughter, do this for me."

"Alright, ada. I will see her in a moment. Do you know her measurements? For a dress?" she stepped past her father, through the double doors that stood open behind them, and towards the large closet that stood open to the left. Elrond shook his head no.

"I never saw her standing. All I know is that her waist is tiny, her bones prominent and sharp, her legs are disproportionately long and her skin is as black as tar." He sat delicately down on the edge of her bed, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Even a full night of rest did not make up for the three days spent caring for the great wolf. Arwen hadn't actually seen the animal, but her brothers had described it for her, from the sweeping tail to the silver Celtic markings on its face. Arwen would do this for her father, but first, she needed to find something for her to wear.

"Can you at least make an estimate of how tall she is?" he father made an undignified snort, then said simply:

"Tall. At least eight feet. Really, really tall." Arwen looked at Elrond incredulously. She wasn't sure what to think of that.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

Elrond stood up, and faced the black haired elf. "Her shins are almost as long as my arm. I'm pretty sure." He strode back out the way he had come in, but this time turned towards his library instead of the healing houses. Lady Arwen grabbed the longest dress she had and dashed out after him.

Raksha was curled in the corner when Arwen arrived. Her stunningly beautiful face was marred by brilliant gold streaks, and her swirling copper eyes didn't focus on her right away. Her ears did though. As soon as Arwen entered the room, those long, delicate ears perked strait up. _She is so beautiful,_ Arwen thought. _But she looks so unsure… it's like she can't see me. _

Arwen lingered in the doorway, watching to see what the strange being did. Raksha shifted her ears around, and sure that Elrond was nowhere near, started to uncurl herself. She stayed low to the ground, in a long, spread out crouch. Arwen could see what Elrond meant by a "tiny waist". Just above her hipbones, the woman's waist was only a third of the width around as the younger elf's. Her bones, and the lean, powerful muscles covering them, were sharp and prominent, well defined in a way that made her beautiful and dangerous.

"What is it that you are carrying, my lady?" her cool voice sent a thrill through Arwen's spine, like hearing a new song. And in a way, it was like she was singing. The changes in tones and inflections were foreign to Arwen, and she couldn't help but want to hear more.

"It's a dress for you to wear, lady…?" she implied for her name.

"Raksha. Or ShadowSong, your choice. I answer to either. And if you wanted me to dress, someone had only to ask. I prefer my wolf body to this one. It has so many memories that I'd rather forget…" Raksha looked sad, then started to stand up. At an upright crouch, she was nearly able to look into Arwen's eyes, and when she stood upright, her ear-tips momentarily brushed the eleven-foot ceiling before she let them lay naturally behind her.

"Do you mind if I change? My form, I mean?" Arwen shook her head no, she did not mind. In fact, she was rather curious to see how this would work.

Last night, it had taken nearly an hour to completely change to a NightSong, but she had been badly wounded then, and far too tired. Today, though, she was well rested and in considerably better health. The change barely lasted half a minute. With a crack like breaking bones, Arwen watched the tall elf figure change into a graceful, and no less tall, wolf. She was the most beautiful of the wolves that Arwen had ever seen, with her jet-black fur glinting silver in the light from the door, and the intricate knot patterns between her eyes gleaming. Her tail curled around her paws like a cat as she sat down on her haunches.

"_Much better."_ Arwen was not as surprised as the men when she heard the haunting voice in her head, but she still jumped a little at the intrusion.

Raksha 'looked' past Arwen , to the halls beyond, but she couldn't see very far because of all the distortions in the faint echo's. She knew that she would have to get outside soon, or she would start to over heat. Nightsong elves loved enclosed spaces, especially caves, but a wolf was too well adapted for life in a cold environment for that.

"_Walk with me?"_ she gestured to the door with her nose, then strode past Arwen, out into the hall. A window at the end of the hall let in sunlight and fresh air. Raksha paused just before the brilliant bar of light, turning to look at Arwen, who had to trot to keep up with the she-wolf's long strides. Satisfied that Arwen was not lagging too far behind, she swung her massive head back around and took another step…

Right into the bright sunlight. She yelped and flung herself sideways, crashing into the delicately carved wall. Her head cracked hard on the stone, but it didn't seem to faze her. She cried softly, her ears twitching every which way, trying to find the source of that blinding pain that had so affected her. Her tail was tucked firmly between her legs, and Arwen's heart throbbed to see the confused expression on the werewolf's face. A theory popped into her head, and it saddened her to think it.

"Raksha, how did you not see the sunlight?" the wolf just looked at her mournfully. Except that, if Arwen was right, she wasn't looking but listening.

"Are you blind?" by the Valar, she hoped not. But the great black wolf nodded her long snout and seemed relieved. She closed her eyes and relaxed a bit. She lowered her head, smiling a wolfish smile, laying her ears down and wagging the end of her long, fluffy tail. In wolf body language, it meant 'I'm sorry'. Then she grinned, showing long, needle sharp teeth that were jagged as a saw blade, and bounded through the halls to the cobble stone road, where she paused to sigh a great, relieved sigh. She could hear Arwen standing at the last corner, leaning on the wall behind the door to see what the she-wolf would do now that she was free of the confining walls. She could not see the roof.

Raksha relaxed greatly, a tension she hadn't even noticed draining from her like water off a beavers pelt.

Raksha's ears barely twitched, then she spun so fast, Arwen didn't realize that she had moved until she was looking strait into her face. But the giant wolf wasn't looking at her with those swirling, sightless eyes. She was looking along the rooflines, several feet above her head. She yipped, fairly loudly, then with a crunch, shattered the arrow that was clamped her teeth. It fell to the ground in many pieces. Arwen was shocked. She had not even seen the arrow coming, had not noticed anything amiss. But a wolf, and a blind one at that, had caught the arrow when it was right behind her head. Apparently, what Arwen had considered to be a weakness was actually a benefit. She would have to tell her father about this, lest he make the mistake of coddling her.

Raksha spat the bits of broken weapon out of her teeth, then, still looking up at the roofs, smiled and wagged her tail, wolf for 'you are forgiven'. Arwen strained her ears, listening for a response to the wolf's silent communication. The faintest sound of footsteps on tile, and Raksha's face fell. Her tail drooped momentarily, but then she looked back at Arwen, and she seemed happy as a puppy with a bone. She bounded down the street like a dear, jumping six feet into the air with each step. Arwen laughed and followed, feeling glad that Raksha was happy, and relieved that she was unharmed.

They spent several hours in the gardens, playing like children. Raksha even played fetch with a tomato rod. When they grew tired, and Arwen mentioned that she was somewhat hungry, they turned up to the dining halls. Dinner was not far off, so many of the elves were already assembled. The streets where they walked were almost empty of other people. The few that they passed reacted negatively to the massive predator that waltzed through their streets. Raksha's presence was met with glares, angry signs and outbursts of fear and protest, the closer they came to the dining hall. By the time they had reached the doors, the blind werewolf's head hung low, her tail dragged, and her great paws scuffed the ground.

To make matters worse, the elves watching the door wouldn't let the giant wolf through. Raksha did not appear surprised by this, though, instead lifting her head to eye level and doing her best not to seem saddened by this. She kept up the eye contact as she turned away from the hall, from Arwen, from the nervous guards. She walked slowly away, and the two elves that hurriedly pressed themselves against the wall of the building that lined the road could hear a faint, wavering rumble coming from her chest, as though she was crying inside.

Arwen looked anxiously after Raksha, then made a hasty decision. She glared angrily at the guards as she walked into the large hall. Food was set out on the tables, and she hurried to get two plates of food. Most of the available options were vegetable based, so for the first dish she picked the only meat dish she could find: a small, bantam chicken that had been stewed in vegetable broth. For herself, dandelion salad.

She dashed back out the gates, trying to think of the places that the werewolf would go to. Not the healing houses, they were too small. Not the gardens, they were too happy-feeling for her low mood... the forests. That was where she would go. Arwen would bet that as a cross between a wolf and an elf, she would be able to talk to and understand the trees.

Balancing the two plates, Arwen ran as fast as she could through the city. The forests were made up of ancient pines and cedars, maples and oaks. Generally friendly trees, but there were other dangers that a blind wolf could get herself into. Pitfalls, orcs, or even giant spiders. Worry twisted in her gut as she entered the deepening shadows beneath the spreading boughs.

The soft leaf-fall was hard to track anything over, but moving parallel to the woods edge, she spotted the tell tale signes of an elemental cratuure passing through; several trees had moved slightly out of their way, leaving a streak of dark earth behind. The forest was filled with birdsong, and Arwen felt herself relaxing into the natural pattern of the woods. The trees told her in their creaking voices, that the wolf-elf-girl was resting in a clearing, a quarter mile to her left. Arwen thanked the trees and hurried on her way.

Raksha settled down on the soft moss with a deep groan. She hadn't spoken to the trees in four days, and she missed their wisdom. They sympathised with her, soothing her heartache and reminding her of her life motto.

_The past is behind us, and the future will never be. Live for now, because it is the only thing that truly exists._

She was ready to fall asleep, listening to the trees song, when Arwen approached. Raksha could smell the small bird, and it made her gut twist with hunger. It had been many days since she had eaten, what with being chased by orcs, lying unconscious on Elrond's examination table, and then recovering on the blanket. She lifted her head from her paws, staring sightlessly at the pretty girl.

"Hey," Arwen crooned. "You okay?" she crouched down beside Raksha, letting the black creature shift around so that she could lay her head on Arwen's lap while wrapping her tail around to enfold the younger woman. She hummed gently, almost as though she was purring. She nudged Arwen under the chin with her cold nose, and the humming deepened. 'I'm fine', she was saying. Then she sniffed delicately at the little stewed chicken on the dish in Arwen's hand. Arwen held it out for her to eat, and in a snap of sharp teeth, the morsel was gone. Hungry as she was, she couldn't suppress the grimace that contorted her face. She hated cooked food. Arwen giggled at the comical sight, and nibbled on a dandelion leaf. She soon finished her veggies, then stacked their plates and stood to go.

"You should have more to eat before you return to Rivendell. Hunt for a while, then meet me at the pavilion. I'll find a place for you to sleep. And," she added as an afterthought, "you will stay there for the entire night." Then she strode off, back the way she came. Raksha stood with a grunt, then licked at the stitches on her haunches. They itched and pulled, and the wounds beneath were almost healed. She would have to see about removing them.

Before dashing off into the woods to hunt, she said a silent thank you to the near-by trees. Then, with a graceful flick of her tail, she bounded off into the woods. Night had fallen, beneath the cover of the great trees, and she blended in easily. Not even the keen eyed elves could have spotted her in the near pitch-blackness. But she could see clearly, for the small sounds made by little animals were more than enough to paint a silvery mind-map of the area around her.

A herd of deer passed many paces to the east, and she bent her lope towards them. A doe, older and on the last legs of her life, trailed behind as the herd returned to its nesting place. She did not even notice when the long teeth snipped through her spinal cord, right under her skull. Gently lowering her prey to the ground, Raksha waited for the herd to continue obliviously on, then she howled. In her song, she thanked the deer for her life, and expressed the triumph of her hunt. Raksha sang a song, the song of the wolf, but as with everything about her, it was different, more haunting, melodious and expressive of her emotions, even the deep ones that never showed through in anything else she did. Back in Rivendell, the elves that heard the unearthly sound felt tears springing to their eyes.

Raksha ate quickly, finishing the entire deer, bones and all, then returning to Rivendell as fast as she could. The miles past by in a flash, and when she reached the edge of the city, it was a simple matter of jumping onto the roof-tops, leaping over streets, and dropping to the ground right in front of a startled Arwen.

"You've got blood in your fur." She said teasingly, yet there was a note of urgency in her voice. Raksha licked at the thick fur on her neck and chest with a surprisingly blue tongue, then around her mouth. She cocked her head to the side, asking if that was better.

"All clean," Arwen said. "Now follow me." Raksha was curious as to where she would have to spend the night, so followed eagerly, her tail waving. Arwen, whom Raksha now considered to be her friend, led her into a building with ceilings high enough to be comfortable. The scent of elves mixed with the musky scent of books, one of the more comforting scents in her vocabulary. There were confused echoes rebounding down the hall, showing her blurry shapes of rooms hidden behind closed doors. The room where Arwen stopped to knock had a figure standing in it, but the stone walls made it hard to get a good bead on it. Her nose told her that they would be familiar, but not recognisable from her distant past. She waited patiently as the figure slowly approached the door. Arwen was nervous, a faint fear-scent emanating from her. The door opened, then, and Raksha was glad that she had scented the area first.

Elrond stood in the doorway, his appearance somewhat altered. His hair was down, and now that he was facing her, Raksha could see that he did not resemble _him _at all. His brow was too angled, his mouth too firm. Shame at her earlier actions filled her, and she dropped into a low crouch, lifting her head to sniff under his chin, her tail flicking on the ground. Her ears tipped back along her neck as she said that she was sorry for her earlier actions. Elrond looked mildly surprised, and he chuckled quietly.

"You are forgiven, ShadowSong. Come on in." She stayed at a lower height than him, showing him that he was leader. His rooms, which were just tall enough for comfort, were wide, and each wall was lined with books. A pile of blankets was thrown in one corner, absorbing the sounds that she used to see. Soft materials did not echo well, but could be detected with the nose. Elrond's own bed was on the opposite side of the room, nearer to the door. A bathing chamber echoed coldly and loudly from an arched doorway directly to the left, and a private office space to her right smelled strongly of paper, ink and Elrond. She could be comfortable here, she decided. Her tail waved lazily behind her, and she turned to look back up at Elrond and Arwen.

"I already told him of your eyes. You needn't worry about anything else with him. He will care nicely for you." Raksha believed her. She knew that Elrond, though he might appear grim at times, was a truly kind hearted person. The deep humming started in her chest, and the two elves smiled. Elrond thanked his daughter, then closed the door. He strode to his bed, and grabbed the book that lay spine up there. He marked his page and returned it to his shelf.

"You may make yourself at home. Those blankets are for you if you wish to sleep as a wolf. If you want to be an elf, then I will arrange to have a bed brought to a separate room." He said, his deep voice sounding so serious, yet she knew that he was glad that she was near. Something was troubling him, something from a distant place. He was worried by news from, somewhere… she knew that nothing could be gained by listening, so she cast for any scents that did not belong in this room. At first, nothing, then a trace of pipe weed and moth wings and magic. The traveling wizard, Gandalf. He had been here. She knew that he only ever bore ill news, so that must be what was getting to the Lord of Rivendell.

Instead of retreating to the corner, she placed her head on Elrond's chest, pushing gently.

"_Not all bad news is evil._" She said to reassure him. He seemed caught unawares by the attempt at comfort.

Raising his hands, he smoothed the fur on the fur on he face, then fisted his hands in her heavy ruff.

"How did you know that it was ill news that bothered me?" he asked her, and she caught a hint of amusement in his voice.

"_Gandalf was here."_ She answered, then freed herself and curled up on the blankets. In the tightly rolled position, the sutures on her back pulled and itched, so she sat back up and licked at them. If they stayed in much longer, they would scar, but she didn't want to take them out without help, for fear of causing further injury.

"We'll take them out in the morning." Elrond told her. He had settled down to bed with his book, and one lamp still burned. Eventually, Elrond fell still and the lamp burned low, but Raksha was not tired. Something would happen, in the near future, and she knew that it would change the face of Middle-Earth.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Raksha quickly fell into a routine with Elrond and the other elves. She would wake before dawn, and if she was hungry, she would hunt. After washing herself, she would follow the Twins around until they included her in their games. Elrond, Arwen and the Twins were the only elves that truly accepted her, and rarely was she away from them. The other elves, with the exception of Glorfindel, still did not trust her and rarely even tolerated her, so when she was bored, she would go for a run, from Rivendell to Bree through the Old Forest. It would take a man or elf three days to complete half the journey, but it only took her a few hours. The first time she left, Arwen thought she had left forever, and was elated when she returned only slightly out of breath. She rarely changed into a NightSong, preferring to keep her memories and powers concealed and controlled. She could stand being blind, as long as no one was being hurt. And anyway, being a wolf was fun.

Living with the elves was far easier than living on her own in the wild, and far more comfortable than living with the male High elves in the Otherworld. Eladan and Elrohir were constantly playing pranks on the other elves, and it was hard for her not to enjoy watching the reactions of the pranked elves. She enjoyed spending her evenings with Arwen and Elrond, for they would read out loud to her. Arwen would read stories of love and adventure, fictional works written by elves of distant places and ages. Elrond would read great works of lore, written in many different languages, some of which she understood, and many she did not, though the NightSong part of her reveled in learning them. She managed to learn several dialects of the native dwarfish, which was not all that different from the Otherworld's common tongue, and Quenyan, in the time it took for Elrond to read six large tomes.

Even though the elves hated her, she had aspects that were valuable to them. She could sing well, as a wolf, well enough to make the elves cry if she so wished. As a NightSong, even Glorfindel, as old and experienced as he was, couldn't bear her song. But at night, if she ever got bored or restless, or she had a nightmare, she would sit outside on the balcony or the roofs and she would sing softly, quietly, and all the elves would rest peacefully.

And she could fight. Her blindness had no affect on her battle prowess, for she knew exactly where everyone was at all times, and could sense where an attack would come from before it even happened. Many orcs and goblins fell to her serrated fangs and slashing claws. Even the few wargs that came at Rivendell would flee when they saw her.

For many months she dwelled in Rivendell, healing and helping others to heal. The arrow wounds left minimal scarring and she grew more comfortable around males, even to the point of enjoying Elrond, the Twins and Glorfindel's presence. Feelings of evil will occasionally plagued her with discomfort and paranoia, but life was mostly peaceful.

Then Elrond caught word of the one ring's return, and called the Council. The dwarves arrived first, riding on hardy little mountain ponies. Their scent turned her stomach, being much the same as any of the dwarves she had met in the Otherworld, their thick, wooly beards appeared as dark blurs to her echo-vision, and their metal helmets echoed amusingly when she yipped. To Raksha's relief, their quarters were located all the way across the city, away from her commonly visited areas of enjoyment: the gardens, the library and the healing houses.

Boromir of the race of men arrived soon after, and Raksha found that he was amusing to watch, but not totally trustworthy. He lied to the elflings on no less than three occasions, and walked through the city at night like a wraith, lurking in the shadows.

The Mirkwood elves were more familiar, with their scents as varied as the flowers and their hair glowing silver with faintly bounced sound. She had even met their leader once, though at that time, she had tried to kill him just for being male and in her presence. His scent of pine-birch-leaf fall-spring leaves made her pelt burn with regret. She now recognized that he had done nothing to deserve her ire.

Bilbo Baggins, the resident hobbit, came out into the gardens one day, after the elves arrived, and talked at length to an older dwarf by the name of Gloin. They were old friends, she gathered, but the language was a newer version of dwarfish that did not make much sense to her. Even after living in Rivendell for the whole year, she knew very little of the little old guy. But now that the dwarves were there, he seemed to be everywhere.

The next day, Arwen rode out the weather-top guard post. Elrond had seen the Nazgul in a vision, and had sent out several elves to protect the current ring-bearers. Arwen, also possessing a limited foresight, rode out as fast as her horse could carry her. Raksha had made the hasty decision to shadow her, and tailed her friend just out of sight. She did not doubt Arwen's ability to defend herself, but she also did not doubt the Nazgul's ability to cause extreme terror and injury.

Asfoloth was very swift, and he loved his rider, but even he could not outpace the giant wolf. Raksha loped easily within earshot, but always out of sight. When Arwen found the company's camp, Raksha paced in circles. The Nazgul had been temporarily driven off, but one of the four hobbits was injured and the fear-stench was heavy in the air. Arwen won a small argument with the Man, who must have been her lover, Aragorn. Curious to learn more about this exceptional man who had captured her friends heart, Raksha did not follow when Asfoloth cantered away.

Standing in the deep shadows at the edge of the dell, she watched the three remaining hobbits fret about, then they all settled down to sleep. Aragorn, a tall man who she judged to be trustworthy, stood guard near her position under the scrub trees. He bore several weapons, but none were drawn. He did not expect an attack again that night.

Raksha was not sure whether he would see her if she moved. Echolocation could not show her where the moonlight fell, but she had not always been blind, and was not blind if she used her powers, so she knew that she was in the deepest shadows of the area. The silver in her fur and on her brow was quite reflective, though, and she was sure that Aragorn had unusually keen eyes. He would catch the glimmer.

As she contemplated moving to a new hiding spot, Aragorn looked right at her. He could not see her, Raksha knew, but she felt somewhat disconcerted. She drew back slightly, but her hind paw snapped a small twig, and Aragorn's demeanor focused on her fully. She sighed in defeat, and hesitated a moment before stepping out from under the stunted pines. Aragorn drew his dagger and squared of into a ready position.

"_Peace, lord Aragorn." _She said, lowering her head, ears and tail. She kept her eyes down, not that affected much. Aragorn nearly leapt out of his skin, but he saw that she meant no harm and did not call an alarm to the little hobbits. Bill the pony looked lazily at her for a moment, wary but not scared. Raksha lay down low to the ground, as submissive as she would allow of herself to be around any male.

"Who are you?" he asked, bewildered. "What are you?"

"_I am Raksha of Rivendell, of Mirkwood and of the Singing Caves in the Otherworld. As you can see, I am a wolf." _She rose slowly from her crouch, and looked at the fitfully sleeping hobbits. They were plagued by nightmares, and she understood so well that that was not a pleasant way to rest. "Awaken the Halflings, lord Aragorn. They will not rest for a long time to come." The wary man did, watching her all the while. Each hobbit jolted awake when he shook their shoulders, scared by the past few hours. When each was standing on shaky legs, Raksha quietly turned and slipped into the shadows, beckoning with her tail for the four companions to follow her. They did, once Aragorn noted the direction that she headed.

The night was cold, frosty, even, but no one seemed to notice. The little hobbits struggled to keep up with their larger companions, but none complained of the exercise. Every now and again, Raksha would swivel her ears back and ensure that they were all there. Like the elves, hobbits made very little noise when they stepped, but their ragged breathing was enough for her to see by.

She led them along deer tracks, away from the main trail to Rivendell, and at all the intersections Aragorn would pause to question Raksha's path. Each time he stopped, she would huff a cloud of frosty breath at him. He might have been raised around here, but he was not a wolf, and did not know all the ways around through to the valley. She had spent the past year running from Rivendell to Bree and back again, taking a different route each time. She knew where she was going.

After about three hours, the hobbits started to stumble and yawn. Raksha was quick to find a hollow large enough to comfortably fit all three hobbits and the tall man. Even though he did his best to hide it, she was a wolf, and tiredness was a weakness. She saw through his efforts.

But Aragorn would not sleep. He just sat beneath the sheltering boulder and watched her. Though she was glad that he was not immediately trusting, Raksha found his refusal to lay down and rest annoying.

"_Sleep, lord Aragorn. You need it." _She said to him. There were some things that body language could not convey, and though she hated talking with telepathy, it could not be avoided. Seeing his look of suspicion, she tried to ease his fears_. "I'm not hungry; I ate yesterday. If you want to watch, I will wake you in four hours. You will have two hours till the hobbits awaken, and we continue on." _

Aragorn did settle down on his cloak, but refused to close his eyes. With a huff, Raksha turned her back on the man. The three hobbits slept soundly, snoring like little engines. The blond one, Sam, had his arm thrown over his face. The smaller of the other two was drooling somewhat. None of them were dreaming at all. Listening to them sleep, the faintest feeling of fatigue stirred in her chest. It had been five days since she had felt tired enough to sleep at all.

Now that they were not moving at all, the cold finally reached her. Her nose ached, and her ears were freezing. A shiver ran down her long, fluffy neck. The night was unseasonably cold, on account of the Nazgul's presence. Natural cold did not affect elves, especially NightSongs, but this… Raksha hated it. It reminded her of… him. Of Iblith.

No. she wouldn't let her thoughts down that road. It would only lead to pain and suffering on everyone's part. Her powers would be uncontrollable, and the wrath of the Valar and Maiar would be upon her. And that would be bad. She shuddered again at the thought, then focused on the moor around them. Small creatures stirred in the bushes and trees, and several owls hunted amidst the scraggly junipers and cedars. Otherwise, nothing stirred.

She sat still as a statue until dawn was two hours away. Then she nudged Aragorn with her nose, leaping back when he surged bolt upright with a long knife in his hand. As soon as he was fully coherent, Raksha turned and stalked into the bush, as silent as a ghost. She would hunt for the hobbits' breakfast and be back in time to have it cooked.

A hare darted across her path, but she let it go. It was too scrawny, and there was enough prey around here for her to be picky.

Less than an hour later, she had two fat wood ducks in her teeth. Neither had a head. Aragorn barely blinked at the bloody things as she dropped them at his feet. He looked at her openmouthed. Confusion filled her. What was wrong? Had she changed and not realized it? No, that was not it. She still had a tail.

Had his mistrust really gone so deep that he would think her a liar?

Ah, well. It was only healthy, and she was proud that he didn't trust her right away, because only a stupid person would trust a talking wolf that randomly appeared in the dead of night.

"_Get a fire started. I will pluck the birds. You will cook them, then eat with the Halflings and we will go." _Raksha swept a pile of dead branches towards Aragorn with her tail, and picked both ducks up delicately. She moved across the hollow, stepping over top of the sleeping hobbits and settled down on the other side of the hollow. She held the first bird between her paws and used her teeth to pull a mouthful of feathers off. She quickly spat them out, but they still stuck in her fangs. She let out a small sigh, but completed both birds. When she was finished, there were feathers everywhere, in her teeth, in her nose, in her fur and all over the ground. But both wood ducks were ready to be cut into bits, with no tears in the skin, except where she had bitten the heads off.

Aragorn had gotten the fire going quickly and well. From Sam's pack, he pulled a frying pan and tripod, which he set over the flames. He cleaned the birds, burying the offal under a rock, then cut the birds into large pieces. Soon the scent of cooking meat drove Raksha away, into the bushes. She trotted off a ways, than ranged south. Nothing stood out as dangerous to her, and she could scent nothing wrong. Things were quiet, but not silent. She returned to the hollow.

The hobbits were up and eating quickly. They appeared worried, but not too tired any more. The three nearly leapt out of their skins when she appeared out from the misty bushes.

"Whoa! Wolf there!" the hobbits giggled a bit, but they were still tense with worry about their friend.

"Ooo…" the smallest hobbit said with a frankly ridiculous awed expression plastered over his face. "Sparkly! Your fur is covered in water droplets, you know?" he seemed quite excited by the glint of water in her fur, and Raksha felt happy that she could help cheer him up.

"Pippin! You and sparkly things… first the rock, then the sword, and now dew on a wolf's fur…" he looked at his friend, and they both burst out laughing. Sam did not seem amused, but looked forward in the direction they had traveled. He was very anxious about the dark haired hobbit. Arwen had called him Frodo when she had argued with Aragorn.

The hobbits finished eating remarkably fast, the two ducks stripped to the last thigh-bone. They cleaned up just as fast, eager to be on their way. Raksha yipped loud enough to attract their attention to a new direction. The four companions looked confused, even Aragorn. But she knew her way, and it would take less time while still being safe. The hobbits had no troubles now, what with the early morning sun shining on their path and some of the weariness gone from their bones. Several miles they covered, talking amongst themselves. Aragorn kept a wary eye out, looking for dangers, possibly traps. Raksha settled into a long, slow stride that kept the hobbits moving forward but was not so fast as to tire them out again. Relaxing into the movement, she closed her eyes. Though she could not see, direct sunlight still hurt her eyes, worse than, perhaps, even the mortals.

Eventually the path started to dip downhill and the ranger and hobbits could hear the Loudwater running in its gully far below. When the deer track neared the edge of the cliff, it turned to the north, but a smaller track lead strait over the granite edge, continuing on the other side of fifteen feet of empty air. Without giving them time to process what she was about to do, Raksha spun and grabbed Pippin by the collar of his vest and leapt across the river. She gently lowered the startled hobbit to the stone on the other side. With barely a pause, she turned back and had Sam in her teeth. He yelped as she jumped, but before he could do more than that, he was safely on the ground. Raksha looked expectantly back at Aragorn. Her actions had only taken a second, and now he could either trust her to carry Merry over (she had learned his name by listening to their conversation), or he could leave half of his company behind. To help save him the choice, she leapt lightly back over the eighty foot drop and picked the little hobbit up, gently setting her fangs in his clothing. Another relatively short bound, and he was over too. The hobbits muttered nervously as she returned for Aragorn. They had called him strider, but after hearing his name bouncing around Rivendell, she doubted that she could ever think of him as that.

He resisted her attempts to pick him up, saying that he was too heavy and his clothes would rip, and that he was too tall and would drag when she landed. She finally relented, and instead of trying to find the hem of his leather jerkin, she crouched low and thrust her head between his legs. His ranger's reflexes kept him from falling off as she stood up, but he still slid back to her shoulders when she threw her head up. Then he was situated where she wanted him, she took a few steps backward for a running start. He was heavier than she had expected, accustomed as she was to the feather-light twins. Aragorn, also not used to riding on the back of a wolf, held on hard enough with his legs to restrict her breathing. She made a hacking noise, deep in her chest, like a cough, and he loosened his grip a bit. Before he could react further, Raksha dashed forward a step and bounded across the chasm. The hobbits, who had been laughing to watch Aragorn dipping and dodging and avoiding the taller wolf's teeth, scattered into the bushes.

Raksha landed with a thump a good seven feet from the edge. Aragorn lurched dangerously, and Raksha skittered sideways to catch him. Aragorn fisted his hands in her ruff, pulling sharply. She crouched low with her belly to the ground, and Aragorn quickly got off, and Raksha shook herself off. To further the still tittering hobbits amusement, several grey feathers were flung out of her thick mane. One landed on her nose, and she sneezed. The poor hobbits nearly choked, they were laughing so hard. Then Sam said,

"I wish Frodo could see this." And they all sobered up.

The rest of the short walk went quickly. An hour later, they arrived at the roof of the library, which was carved out of the valley wall. It was a long slide and a short drop to the grass beside the great building. Aragorn still looked slightly stunned. Once the four friends were safe, Raksha left for safer grounds, namely the building next door, and lord Elrond's rooms. She would tell him that the final members of the council had arrived, then rest for a while, out of the brightening daylight.

Then, off to the Council of Elrond.

**Thank you to all those people who have reviewed, favorited and followed! It makes my day, each time I see that email in my inbox that says 'Wolfsong, *someone* has reviewed on your story', and then when I actually open the email, and see "great job, please keep writing/post more chapters!" I feel kinda giddy. Thank you again!**

**Next chapter, I am considering changing the tense and perspective to be present tense and first person, mostly from Raksha's point of view, but also the newly convened fellowship members. We'll see how you guys like it, and I may change it back, or continue to write in that manner (it is easier for me than past tense, 3rd person semi omniscient;).**

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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

The council of Elrond was not the kind of thing that Raksha enjoyed. There were representatives from the dwarves, sylvan elves, hobbits and men, all sitting in a circle, arguing over menial details for several hours, during which she had to sit quietly in the shadows. Eventually, Elrond called attention to the problem of the One Ring. The way in which he did it made him sound, to Raksha, quite dull, as though he had just discovered something that everyone had already known about. This whole meeting was grating on her nerves. By the time Boromir had claimed that the ring would be best served as a weapon for Gondor, her lips had crept up over her teeth and a deep rumble in her chest, low enough that even the elves would mistake it for the distant waterfalls, threatened to escape her throat. Finally Gandalf, who had arrived in Rivendell half a day after Raksha had left, did something interesting. In order to calm the raging argument between the races, Gandalf invoked the Black Tongue. To Raksha's surprise, she understood perfectly, before he even translated it. The elves, upon hearing the foul words, cringed back and covered their ears. Both dwarves lost their boisterous attitudes and sat perfectly still. The men, Boromir and Aragorn, and Frodo, all looked at Gandalf with fearful expressions upon their faces.

Raksha perked up, and the growl died in her chest. In perfect time with Gandalf, she spoke to the whole group,

"_One ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them_."

Gandalf looked at her, surprise written in his scent and on his face. "And who might you be? I had not noticed you there." He looked at Elrond, situated at his side, with a look that said clearly, _was she even invited_?

"_Raksha, I am called in my tongue. ShadowSong in yours_." Gandalf did not recognize her, that much was clear from his face.

"How do you know the Black speech, ShadowSong? It is not used abroad," _yet_, Gandalf added under his breath. None but Raksha and Elrond could hear the actual word, but every person could feel it being implied. And all eyes turned to her. Deep-set eyes shadowed by thick, hairy brows, sharp, angled eyes reflecting silver sound, intense eyes on interested faces, and one set of child-like eyes, brimming with innocence. Raksha could feel the pressure on her, and she drew back into herself, shuffling her paws together and pulling her tail in tighter. She dropped her head bellow her shoulders. There were many men, gathered here, and only one other woman, a cold, blond and distant-looking Sylvan Elf. One man, fine. Two men, and she would start to feel nervous. Three, and no matter how rude it would appear, and she would have to leave the room. But this was much more than three, or four even. There were nearly twenty. Panic blossomed in her breast, and she drew her lips back a bit. She shifted deeper into the shadows, trying her best to disappear.

"_I just did. I never learned it, but understand it perfectly_." Gandalf looked as though she had confirmed something he had long expected, and settled back into his seat. Elrond looked grim.

"The ring must go to Mordor, to be cast in the fires of mount doom. One of you must do this." Said Elrond, again with the uncharacteristic blunt stupidity. But he got a reaction. The races started to argue again, each fighting the other for the right to bear the ring to that gods-forsaken place. When the topic left the Ring and became a flurry of racist comments, Raksha shook her head. They were like a pack of coyotes, fighting with each other over the same cause. It made no sense to her.

"I'll do it!" Frodo volunteered. Raksha was the only one who heard over the din of the verbal battle. "I'll do it!" Frodo repeated. "I'll take the ring into Mordor!" this time, every one heard him. When Frodo said that he would not go alone, Raksha was surprised that only four people volunteered to accompany him. Boromir, Aragorn, Gimli and to Raksha's relief, the crown prince of Mirkwood, Legolas, came forward and pledged their weapons and lives. Gandalf said that he would be going, too, and then Merry and Pippin dashed out of the bushes, just as she had expected they would. Sam came barreling around the corner at almost exactly the same time.

"We're coming too!" the hobbits shouted loudly.

"I don't suppose that I could stop you now could I?" Elrond sighed dramatically. "You shall be the fellowship of the ring." Moves of finality were made, and Raksha stood to leave. As the separate races talked amongst themselves, Elrond approached her.

"You should go with them." He said to her, quietly. She had her head through the courtyard door, and when she spun around, she clipped her nose on the door jam. She snarled loudly, at the minor pain and at Elrond. "I have noticed your boredom, and the restlessness that stirs your heart. I suspect that the Valar mean for you to go with them on this journey." Raksha conceded to his point, and ceased her snarl. She wrapped her tail over his shoulder and bowed her head, pressing her muzzle against his abdomen. He was right, she had been feeling increasingly bored and restless. Even Elrohir and Elladan could not fully entertain her for long. Her runs had become increasingly long and difficult. But she did not want to leave her few friends behind. She loved them, and trusted them. The fellowship was made up of strangers, and they were all male. If she left, she could not come running to Arwen for comfort.

"You are a creature of high honor, yes?" Elrond stepped back from her and lifted her soft chin with his hand. Raksha nodded yes. Her sense honor was one of her most redeeming features. "Then I implore of you, go with the fellowship."

"_Are you sure_?" Raksha was certain that she would end up going, but she wanted to give Elrond a hard time first. He nodded firmly, once.

"Go now, join them. The Twins will meet you at the library after meal time. And I'm sure Arwen will have something to say to you." With some of her worries soothed, Raksha walked after the fellowship. Her tail swung out behind her, weaving slightly. Elrond looked after her, relieved. He had not wanted her to go, but felt that it would be cruel to contain the restless, anxious creature without offering a way out. And seeing how she had not put up much of a fight, he figured that she would have chosen to go after them on her own anyway.

* * *

Raksha felt unsure, nervous and somewhat excited as she trailed behind the fellowship. She did not want to introduce herself, especially with MindSpeech, but she found that it would seem rude to just randomly show up for the ride. She knew that Legolas, the young prince of Mirkwood was somewhat scared of her, on account of an incident two years ago in which she nearly took his head off. Aragorn would be somewhat ashamed by the fact that she had forcibly carried him on her back. The hobbits were intimidated by her size, and Boromir had never met her before. Her tail quivered with tension.

The fellowship, further up the road from her, soon disbanded to their separate quarters to prepare for their evening meal. Raksha marked their behavior to each other as they separated. Boromir stalked off all aloof and uninterested in the rest of the group. Legolas and Aragorn both bade the hobbits well and departed together to the elf's room. They were old friends, Raksha figured. Gandalf patted the Halflings on their short heads and strode around the corner towards the gardens. The four hobbits chatted animatedly to each other as they continued to waddle in the wrong direction. None of the hobbits had rooms in that part of the city, or down that hall.

Quickly stepping up behind the diminutive creatures, Raksha made a chuffing sound to catch their attention. All four leapt nearly a foot in the air (figuratively, of course, no hobbit could jump that high) and they momentarily stopped talking. As they stared dumbly at her, Raksha nudged them gently with her nose in the right direction. As soft as she was in the gesture, the terrified hobbits nearly toppled over on stiff legs. Then they squeaked and dashed off, in the right direction thankfully. Raksha sighed heavily. This would not be fun.

The best way to meet the taller members would be at the mess hall, but most of the elves still hated her and she had no desire to aggravate that by intruding on meal time. And anyway, she needed to hunt again. The next best thing would be out in the forest where she was most comfortable.

Gandalf had headed for the gardens, which were almost as good. Still down from the hobbits negative reaction to her help, Raksha set off to find the wizard.

As she passed through the gates to the gardens, her spirit soared. The roses were in full bloom and even though she could not see their magnificent colors, she could smell each delicate blossom and hear the textures of each leaf, petal and thorn. The birds twittered rudely at each other, but their song was playful. Raksha's tail lifted from the ground and wagged gracefully from side to side. She liked the garden. It was a happy place, and it soothed her depressions and restlessness.

She walked slowly through the gardens until she heard Gandalf seated on a bench around the corner. Then she lowered her head and ears, stilled her tail and proceeded cautiously. She did not expect it from him, but people tended to react negatively to enormous black wolves when they get paid an unexpected visit before mealtime.

Thank the Valar that he did not. Gandalf didn't even notice her for a long time. He just sat there, smoking his pipe and looking into the back of his head. She settled back on her haunches and waited for him to notice her. Even though she spent most of her time as a wolf, she still possessed the silent step of a NightSong Elf. It was another ten minutes before the wizard looked up and met her copper eyes, which glowed eerily in the bright sunset light.

"Hum… you are Miss Raksha, indeed you are! I have been contemplating what Elrond told me of you. He said that you were unusual, and I now see how true he was. Tell me, where in this world did you come from?" Raksha chuckled deeply, as only a wolf can.

"_I did not come from this world. I came _to_ this world_." Gandalf looked somewhat confused. Even the Maiar apparently did not know about switching worlds. But then, maybe only the NightSongs were the only ones who could, seeing as they spent hundreds upon thousands of years doing nothing but learn. "_If you would like an explanation, you have only to ask. However, I did not come here for uncomfortable trivia. I came to ask if I would be allowed to come with the fellowship on this journey_."

"Hum… well, I think that that would be okay, but I will have to ask Frodo first. He is, after all," Gandalf said in his low, gravelly voice. "the Ringbearer."

"_He will probably say no. All the hobbits think that I'm a boogeyman out to get them and eat their hairy little toes_." Gandalf laughed at her words. That sounded much like a hobbit, indeed.

"Nevertheless, he should be warned if there is going to be a guard dog coming along." Gandalf smiled wryly at the slightly offended expression on her face. Just like any wolf, Raksha hated being compared with a dog. "But yes, because I doubt that anyone could say no to you and get away with it, you can come along." With a wolfish smile, Raksha stood to walk away. Her tail waved comfortably around her heels and her eyes were closed in contention.

* * *

Deep in the forest that surrounded Rivendell, Raksha hunted the most challenging prey that she could think of: a grizzly bear that had been terrorizing the goats. She dodged through the sparse undergrowth and deadfall, scent-tracing the huge beast. It was more than she could ever eat in one day, or even one week, but the elves would use the pelt, provided that she could kill it without mauling it, and they wanted it gone. So did Raksha.

She found the bear near the path to the grazing fields. It was huge, bigger even than she was. The two were almost exactly the same height, but the bear outweighed the slender wolf by at least two tons. Its deep brown and gold fur was thick and soft looking, gleaming with health. But there was a glint in its eyes that even the blind she-wolf could not miss, for it appeared in SoundSight too. Raksha could smell the blood on its muzzle, the rotting flesh in its six inch claws and the will to kill in its emotions. Her heart thudded in her chest and excitement thrilled through her veins. This was a worthy opponent.

Unlike an herbivore, the space behind the skull was coated in heavy muscle, so the greatest weak spot would be the throat. The bear was fast, but bulky. Agility would be her greatest ally in this fight. The grizzly could send her into status with a single hit to the head, or cripple her beyond repair if she was not careful.

The great bear was completely unaware as Raksha crept forward, silent as a moth on the wind. She stayed downwind from it, creeping closer while still remaining out of sight. She was only twenty feet away when the bear sensed something wrong. It turned on her, its piggy eyes glaring pure hatred. When it rose on its hind legs, it was nearly fifteen feet tall. It sniffed the air, its massive nose twitching and its tongue flicking. With its head up like that, Raksha had prime access to its throat, but its paws would catch her before she could do much damage. Unless… a plan started to formulate in her mind.

One very quick dash and she was out in front of the bear. The huge beast was momentarily taken aback by her sudden presence, but quickly became enraged. It rumbled loudly, baring its enormous teeth. Raksha responded with a growl of her own, quieter and more high pitched but warning enough for most creatures to tell that she meant business. Not this one, though. It crashed heavily to all four feet and shook its head at her, spraying spittle in all directions. Raksha ceased her snarl and cowered into the ground in mock terror. Sensing the feigned weakness, the bear charged. Only thirteen feet had separated the two huge animals, but the bear never found its mark; Raksha had simply disappeared. Reeling with confusion, the great beast stood back on his hind feet and again cast for the wolf's forest-and-blood scent. Raksha, who had darted around to the right, circled back to the front, but this time much closer. Only three feet separated her delicate head from those enormous, knife sharp claws. The bear noticed her there and, quick as lightning, slashed out in a blow that would have rendered her unable to remain in this world. Thankfully, the dark she-wolf was faster, ducking under the swinging paw and moving in closer, then leaping up. The bear reacted just as she had planned, trying to crush her in a hug. But the last trick up her metaphorical sleeve was not one that the grizzly could anticipate. Besides being a wolf and a NightSong, Raksha had a half-and-half form which took less than one second to completely transform into.

Forepaws became slender, taloned hands. The fur on her ruff lengthened and her under fur shortened to a slick velvet. Her hips changed to an upright position and her chest flattened. Her teeth remained the same length, and just as sharp as they drove up into the reeling bears throat. A quick shake of her head and the bear fell back from her, its throat and jugular artery torn mortally. Raksha quickly changed back to full wolf form and quickstepped away from the stumbling animal. But not fast enough. The bear took one last gasp and fell forward, swinging a set of heavy claws at her. In the near silence following the end of the bear's growl, Raksha did not notice it coming until it was almost too late.

She just managed to get her head out of the way before the claws made contact. She barely noticed any pain at first, just a sharp, wet tugging sensation. The bear collapsed, very much dead, to the floor of the glade. Sticky blood seeped slowly from the fatal wound. Raksha stumbled back another step or two, then fell on her side as the pain hit her. There was fire burning all down the side of her neck and shoulder, three long, deep stripes of agony. She couldn't contain the un-wolf like scream that tore from her throat. Golden tears seeped over her soft cheeks. Red blood ran from her mouth while blue blood ran from her nose.

Pain deafened her with white noise, and she was effectively blind for what ever happened next. All she knew was that she lay there for many minutes, bleeding icy blood all over the ground and crying as she had been when she first came to Rivendell. Then someone laid their hand on her face, with their thumb near her eye and their fingers behind her long ear. That same person crooned soft words of comfort in Sindarin, a language that her shocked brain could not comprehend, but the tones were reassuring. Eventually the bleeding slowed and the burning pain faded somewhat. She still could not focus enough to hear the tiny microsounds that let her see the world, but the words stood out loud and clear. A song, gentle and lilting as any of those from her homeland. Tense muscles relaxed slowly and her crying eased to a soft whimper. The hands, nimble and delicate, stroked her ears, the back of her head and a little on her neck and side. Raksha sighed softly and opened her eyes a bit, trying to convey her gratitude to whomever it was who had come to her aid. Exhaustion made her eye lids heavy, and she nearly gave in to Reverie. Her own healing ability's would work faster if she let herself sleep, but she wanted to know who had helped her. She sniffed the air, nearly choking on thickening blood, and managed to catch a somewhat familiar scent. Pine-birch-new leaf-leaf fall, similar to her own scent, but different. This particular tag belonged to the one and only prince of Mirkwood.

Ahahh... She really did not want him to see her in any state of weakness, especially now that she was going to be traveling beside him. Raksha moaned and swung her head up, twisting into a leaning position. Her SoundSight was coming back, but most things were just silvery blurs, there but without any form. Her sense of gravity was way off, her world spinning as much as it can when you can't see, and she nearly fell back to her side. Instead, she struggled to a seated position, ignoring the burn in her shoulder. The dark shape of the bear stood out to her, then the trees, then a smaller, much nearer figure with glowing hair and a worried expression on his youthful features. Remaining in her seated position, Raksha lapped gently at the long slashes. They hurt more even than the orc arrows had, though they were lesser wounds. Legolas stepped back after a moment, then in TreeSpeak said

"_Are you alright, Lady Raksha_?" sincere worry coloured his tone, and touched Raksha's heart.

"_I'm fine_," she said, knowing it unlikely that he would believe her words. Relief came slowly to her wounds by way of her naturally super-high metabolism and healing abilities. She knew that it was only a matter of minutes before she would be fit to stand and walk.

"_I somewhat doubt that_," he said in return, stepping back up close to her and pressing her back down to the ground. Raksha did not resist, and collapsed in an ungraceful heap at his feet. The jolt to her injured shoulder and neck hurt, but less than it would have were she a normal wolf. "_Because that is what I said the last time I got injured, and that nearly killed me. You just took a heavy hit from a grizzly bear, and you are not fine. Let me tend you_."

Raksha lay her head back with a groan and let him examine the rapidly healing stripes of blue flesh. Legolas whistled in amazement when he saw how fast her recovery was. The bone of her shoulder blade had been a streak of white amidst the periwinkle flesh, but it was now covered with new muscle. All three rakes were half as deep as when he had arrived, and the bleeding was mostly stopped. He was astounded when, not twenty minutes after receiving the possibly mortal injury, there was almost no sign of it ever having happened, just three long, thin scars like fine silver wire under her fur. He stood back as Raksha pulled herself heavily back to her feet. He watched open-mouthed as she shook bits of moss, leaves and even a feather out of her pelt.

"_I said I was fine_," Raksha said to the still reeling prince of Mirkwood. "And I meant it." Raksha turned her attention to the bear carcass. She had no idea how to drag it back to Rivendell without damaging the pelt. _By the paw, perhaps? Or I might be able to carry it by the skin of its shoulders without tripping… it's not too far.._.

"How did that happen? Surely you should not be conscious now, indeed not even alive!" _poor Legolas_, Raksha thought. _I have inadvertently given him quite the fright_.

"_And yet a am alive, whole and hail. Fret not, young one. Forget that this ever happened and do not let it bother you_." She said in her best mothering voice. The same that she used when talking to her baby cousin, who was only six thousand years old… Raksha felt a bout of homesickness well up in her heart. She missed her family, such as it was. But she could not return yet, for there were things unfinished here and painful memories there. Someday, maybe, but not yet.

_ The past is behind us, and the future will never be. Live for now, for it is the only thing that truly exists._

Grabbing the great dead beast in her jaws, Raksha started dragging it back through the trees. Legolas shook his head vigorously and followed, blinking his eyes sharply. He was utterly confused, but Raksha's minor memory spell did the trick and kept him from thinking back too hard. Eventually, noticing the time, he deviated from the broad trail that the bear was creating in the soft loam and returned to Rivendell ahead of her. Raksha watched him go in annoyance; she was too encumbered by the great, bloody fur-ball to follow him down the fast trails.

Several pains-taking hours later, the invisible sun was settling lower in the sky and a small team of elves arrived to help in her efforts. The Twins, Glorfindel and several others who quite clearly loathed being this near to her arrived, led by Legolas and bearing tarps, ropes and poles. Raksha nearly laughed at herself for thinking cruelly of the young Elf-lord. He was perhaps her greatest new ally in this venture that they would soon embark on. Unlocking her jaw, Raksha gratefully slid her teeth out of the bear's thick hide.

* * *

Once the company had got the grizzly on the tarps and settled across fourteen able shoulders, Raksha was free to finish her day as she wished.

She was not hungry in the slightest, so she spent the rest of the day visiting with Arwen and Elrond, and later the twins, who had arrived back home early that day from hunting orcs with the rangers. Arwen was sad that she was leaving; she would miss her, being the only female companion she had in Rivendell. Elladan and Elrohir had made a collar for her, that was extremely adjustable and would serve as a sword belt should she decide to fight as a NightSong. Raksha was thankful that they had reinforced the light black leather with thin wires: she doubted that otherwise it would survive the general wear-and tear of her day. For the second time that day, golden tears streaked down her face, in sharp and beautiful contrast to her black fur and the silver markings, like gold and silver and obsidian.

That night Raksha did not sleep. She needed no rest, for her nerves were fried with anxiety. She didn't want to go, and yet she couldn't wait to leave. She spent the night in the twin's room, pacing around the perimeter and watching the elves at rest. She would miss them the most, she decided sometime around midnight. She loved being near them; they were funny in a sarcastic way, and they enjoyed doing the same things as she. And being as light as they both were, they could ride double on her narrow back with no troubles.

The sunrise found her sitting quietly on the balcony, her tail curled over her paws, contemplating the simplicities of life. Elrohir and Elladan came and put their arms over her shoulders simultaneously, and perched gently on either side of her, wrapping her in a dual hug. She sighed in contentment.

"_I will miss you both_," she said without turning to either of them. "_But I will not let that hold me back. I am ready to leave, Brothers of My Heart_."

* * *

**I am sorry that it took me so long to finish this chapter; I did not have much time for typing. First person POV starts next chapter as soon as she leaves Rivendell: this style is killing meX( Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot to me. Please continue to review! Thank you! **

**PS: Raksha has a twin in the otherworld; does this affect her affinity to Elladan and Elrohir? Maybe. I know that she misses her own brother though!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Keep in mind that even at the impressive age of 36 millennium, Raksha is still the equivalent of a sixteen year old, and is still a bit of a child in the eyes of a NightSong. She would be counted as fully mature when she turned 100'000. And she is still growing. Her full height will be well over nine feet tall.**

Chapter 5

Raksha met the rest of the fellowship before the gates of Rivendell. Legolas was the only one of the nine who noticed when she slipped out of the trees that stood tall to the side. When the dwarf, Gimli, saw her, he raised his axe and growled, swinging at her legs. Legolas hissed angrily at the diminutive fellow though, and he subsided with a grumble, muttering rude comments about wolves, Legolas and elves as a race. Raksha hummed at the elven prince and butted her head into his shoulder. He smiled at her and gently rubbed her ears, his touch tentative. Raksha hummed even deeper, though, enjoying the sensation on her sensitive ears.

The hobbits eyed her warily, but they must have decided that she was safe, for they made no complaint. Aragorn mostly ignored her save to nod cordially in greeting. Gandalf just blinked at her. Raksha nearly howled with glee. She had a friend, and there was almost no animosity towards her. It was the best that she could have hoped for.

Elrond and several elves of high standing came to bid the fellowship farewell, and then they were off.

"Which way is Mordor, Gandalf?" Frodo whispered to the tall grey wizard.

"To the left, Frodo." He replied quietly.

The last step under the archway felt very final to Raksha. She suspected that she would never return, so she felt it prudent to look back, just once. She saw Elladan and Elrohir concealed up a tree. Arwen smiled weakly at her. Elrond nodded solemnly. The twins whispered to her.

"We'll meet you soon, Raksha. We will await you in Lothlorien. Farewell, Sister of Our Hearts." They said it so faintly, under their breath, that Raksha was the only one who could have heard it. She wagged her tail at her adoptive family and then strode off after the fellowship. She felt like bounding, but figured that it would seem too joyous a motion for the somber occasion. The skin over her powerful shoulders shivered in excitement. Then they crossed the boundary, and she was free.

* * *

Raksha's POV

The faintest twinge of fear stirred in my heart as the distance passed beneath my paws. Rivendell was the first haven I had found since I'd performed the transfer, and leaving was like making the decision to switch worlds. In the past year, I have become braver, and I feel no need to be on guard. So I don't bother to direct my thoughts away from the Otherworld, and more specifically, my twin brother Jaka and my deceased nemesis, Iblith, and the things that were done to me.

I love Jaka, more, perhaps, than I love myself; choosing to leave him was like choosing to rip my own heart to shreds. But Iblith had taken more than two thirds of my life from me and replaced it with torment, torture and a frigid cold that lay permanently in my bones. Iblith had kept me tied to a pole in the middle of a large field, bound hand and foot and tongue. He never fed me, but NightSongs need no sustenance to survive, provided that they have music to occupy their thoughts. But with the piercings that he had put through my tongue, singing had not been an option, and so I starved. If something annoyed him, he would come and stand just twenty feet away and taunt me into madness with insults to my brother, my parents, my friends and, at first, myself. If something angered him, he would remove me from the pole and flay me to ribbons with a barbed, three pronged bullwhip. If someone ever made him feel inferior, he would bring me to an underground dungeon located just over three kilometers north. Those were the only times that he could ever make me scream.

None of the tortures Iblith could take out on me were worse than the ones he had almost no control over. The sun and the snow. My eyes, built for the deep depths of the Singing Caverns, could not handle the light of the sun. My ebony skin burned and blistered and insects seemed to take a particular enjoyment in eating the lavender fluid that covered most of my body. My eight feet of hair, something that NightSongs take great pride in, grew tangled and matted. The injuries that Iblith left negated my ability to fend off the cold, so in the winter I froze. But being a NightSong meant that none of this could kill me. I suffered for twenty five and a half thousand years before Jaka managed to create The Bond with a few strands of my hair that he found in the hole that I used to hide in as an Elfling. He was almost too late, though. I might have held on for another year or two, but I had nothing to live for and no one to convince me to find a reason to continue breathing. When he unbound me from that blue blood stained pole, I was totally numb to the world. I did not even flick my ears at him in acknowledgment of his presence. His tears were the only thing that touched me through the haze. I couldn't bear to see his beautiful face marred by that gold stripe characteristic of a grieving NightSong.

Jaka carried me all the way back to the Singing Caverns, stopping only in the Sylvan City to give me the medical treatment that I needed urgently. For all that the High Elves could heal my wounds, there was nothing that they could do about my mental state. I was terrified of any High Elf who kept their ears high, which was all of them, though I never showed it. I just lay there, occasionally letting tears slide over my face.

When my twin finally got me back underground, I was starting to open up, just a little. I said his name and stood on my own. I started to tell him about Iblith, and the death of my dear friend, the High Elf Jocund. But I could not do more than stand, and my voice was broken beyond repair it seemed, for I only used MindSpeech. The other NightSongs had been horrified by what happened to me and had conceded that time with my twin would serve me best, for we had lain curled together for over a hundred years until birth and had spent all our childhood together. Now, even I agree that this was the best course of action, for Jaka could sooth my aching heart and weakened body. For several weeks I lay tea spooned with my boney back against his powerful chest. Thousands of years fell away then and there, as I gave him an almost full account of what had happened. As my mental state improved, so did my physical state. When I tired of speaking, Jaka would sing to me as only a NightSong can. While it was physically impossible for Jaka to sleep, I had no troubles closing my eyes. Eventually, I was able to get around on my own. And now fully awakened, I was angry. Not satisfied with just walking around in circles, I started to train my body back into shape. In three weeks I got myself back to full strength. In a few more weeks, I was stronger than many of our trained defenders. It is common for a NightSong to lift thousands of pounds without a thought. Most can jump at least fifty feet into the air, often more. Movement speeds can reach over eight hundred kilometers per hour. I pushed myself past my limits and became better. I even managed to Sing, but that took a fair bit longer.

But I was haunted by the memory of Iblith, by the fact that he was still alive and out there. So I went back to the surface. I Summoned Iblith with a song made up of spells. I awaited him with my weapons drawn and stashed away. My scimitars, my swords, my dirks and my bow and arrows, all were hidden within a hundred feet of each other. When he finally came, I was ready for him. Our battle was fierce, but I was the stronger and came about winning very easily. At least, until he started to talk and fight at the same time. He used the same verbal taunts that he had for all those years, and momentarily I was undone again. It gave him enough time to cast a spell. Just a simple one, meant to blind me, but my resistance to magic prevented it from taking effect. It ended with his head in my hands, separate from his body. I had slashed two X's over his eyes and one over his mouth.

Being the good girl that I am, I buried his body and head together, though I made no attempt at hiding his grave. I wished for animals to find it. But Iblith's death had defeated my anger, and his words had defeated my logic. When I returned home, even Jaka could barely reach me. With his council, I managed one of the hardest spells in any Realm: I transferred worlds, landing up in Arda, in the ruined city of Gondolin.

From there, it was a trip through the park, with Reverie visits from the Valar, who pitied me for my past but considered me to be a threat to their realms because of my power, and then getting abducted by Melkor's servants and held captive and tortured (again…), and then being turned into a werewolf.

I wonder what Jaka thought of my transforming. Our bond is still strong, but stretched so thin between the worlds that I can only tell that he is alive (I am living, so I know that he is too) and that he isn't in any physical pain. My heart throbs with longing for him, and I wish again that we weren't separated by time and space.

* * *

Gandalf called a stop to the company at the first pinking of the clouds, putting an end to my recollections. A cook fire was made, and the hobbits, men and wizard all ate some of their fresh meat and bread and cheese. I just sat at the edge of the dell, and Legolas sat up in a tree above my head, conversing quietly with it in TreeSpeak. Boromir was looking worriedly at me, and even with my eyes closed and useless, I could see the malicious intent in him. He, quite understandably, did not trust me in the slightest. Likely, Elrond had told him about something that I had done (transforming, removing a wargs head, or something else unusual), and now considered me to be a danger to the quest. Or, he thought of me as an animal, and nothing more than an inconvenience… oh well, it was bound to happen sometime.

As a wolf, I need to sleep, and it has been a long time since I properly rested. A week or two, perhaps. As a minor display of trust, I lay out with my belly showing towards the sleeping figures. Legolas stayed up in his tree, lost in Reverie. With the warmth of the dying fire to sooth me, it was not long before I was wandering through the same dreamscape.

Come the morning sun, I was up and ready to go onward. The pass was not far ahead, and I had an itchy, restless feeling nagging at me. Something big was going to happen, something magical. Gandalf seemed to sense it too, but he retained his calm and did not pace around as I did. The hobbits were about halfway through their breakfasts when Legolas dashed off into the trees. In moments he returned, nibbling on some leaves much like a squirrel with a pinecone. I chuckled at the somewhat comical sight.

When we were finally off, I ranged to the front, rear and both sides. Though I made not a sound, even to my own ears, the rest of the fellowship seemed bothered by my edginess, though it was not my fault. Legolas, Gandalf and Aragorn seemed worried that something bad was to happen soon, and the hobbits looked nervously at me as though I would eat them, or come back with something dead in my teeth.

What I needed was a battle. A fight in which I could lose myself and expend more energy than I did running in circles around the meandering group, where I could rely on all of my many senses and intuition to protect my own life and the lives of those close to me. And the wolf's foresight to such matters told me that it would not be happening too soon in the near future.

* * *

On the eighth day traveling towards the mountains, in the region called 'Hollin', there came a great flock of crebain in the sky. They were too far away for me to see them with SoundSight, but I could hear each individual cawing, each wing flapping, and my world grew brighter. The scent of the Dunland moors clung in their feathers, and I could smell them from many miles off, even though they were downwind of the fellowship. I raced back as fast as I could to warn Aragorn of the impending spies.

I had ranged far ahead, several miles, in fact, but it was only a minute before I was within SoundSight of them. I calloped to a stop right in front of the ranger, but he paid me no mind. I whined, but he just flipped me off, focused on his conversation with Gandalf. It was unimportant and trivial in comparison to my news: Gondor could stand for at least another year, but the crebain were only ten minutes to my tail. I howled quietly in annoyance, and turned to one who I knew would listen.

Legolas was arguing softly but heatedly with Gimli, as was both their wont, but he swiftly turned his eyes to me as I approached. He saw my raised hackles and slightly bared teeth, my eyes that were closed and the flicking motions of my ears, and he instantly put two-and-two together, pinpointing the source of my urgency. His eyes made a quick scan over the low bushes and trees, then he shouted in a way that caught Aragorn's attention.

"Aragorn! Crebain from Dunland, approaching swiftly against the wind!" he shouted it in Westron, and it took me a moment to translate it to Canticum.

"Everyone, hide! There are spies from Isengard, and surely they search for us!" at his call, everyone but Legolas and I leaped for the bushes and boulders at the edge of the path. We both knew how to hide, even in plain sight. Legolas simply stepped in close to a heavyset alder, talking as quickly as one can in TreeSpeak. In response to his pleas, the tree folded her limbs around him, casting the blond Elf into invisibility. I did not want to pester the plant life, and besides, I am too big for that kind of trick to keep me from the keen eyes of the swiftly approaching birds. Instead, I enacted an innate ability of all NightSongs: ShadowBending.

Unbeknownst to anyone in Arda, save maybe the Valar, each shadow cast by any form of light has a grain of pure darkness. NightSongs can control that darkness; can twist it over themselves in such a way that their eight foot frame and metallic hair is concealed beyond the range of sight. It is a nifty trick, bringing us as close to invisible as is possible anywhere. And, there was a possibility that if I held it up long enough, I might be able to see a glimpse of colour. God, I hoped so… it had been so long, in the dark, in the silver world of SoundSight, and I missed seeing in the light spectrum.

I heard Legolas gasp as he saw me fade from sight, but he was the only one who noticed. The crebain were over top of us, flying low and making such a clamour, I thought I might go deaf. I slipped into the undergrowth and curled up on a ball with my head between my hind legs and my ears pressed into my ruff, trying to block that horrendous din from penetrating my mind. I knew that it would drive me mad.

The birds passed almost as swiftly as they had appeared: in moments they were circling around the mountains to the east. Legolas, Aragorn and Gandalf emerged from their hiding spots first, the Elf whispering a thank you to the alder. They verified that it was safe, then beckoned to the four hobbits and Boromir to come out. I uncurled myself and quietly shook my fur free of the mosses and brambles that had snagged in it. There was a shuffle of feathers and a scrape of talons on bark, and a large black bird flew over my head. Without releasing my concealment, I twisted and jumped to catch it in my jaws with a crunch of hollow bones. It shuddered once in my grip, but it could not make a sound, for my teeth were completely through its feathered breast.

I stepped out onto the path and dropped the bird at Aragorn's feet. He leaped nearly out of his skin at the sight of the limp and maimed carcass that appeared beside his boot, seemingly out of no-where. I contemplated, for a moment what I wanted to look at before my vision faded back to SoundSight. I know what a tree looks like, and I don't want to look at a dwarf or man, on account of their comparatively ugly faces. As I let the spell fall away, I looked at the one who reminded me most of my home: my eyes, for the first time in many years, focused on Legolas.

My vision seemed slightly blurry, but in a second my brain adjusted to the colours that I was receiving, and I truly saw what I had been looking at for the past few weeks. Blonde hair gleamed as gold as tears in the bright sunlight, and blue eyes flashed like ice, or the sky. Shadows played along high cheekbones, and I gasped in wonder. In seconds, my vision would fade, but it was worth the disappointment to create this new memory, this memory of colour and friendship. My tail wagged with my elation, and I smiled fully, all five inches of jagged fangs exposed to the bright yellow light. The colours burned into my memory a brilliant streak of green, blue, purple and gold, orange, indigo brown, red and colos.

Even when my sight was gone, I was happy.

* * *

Aragorn, recovered from his fright, toed the thoroughly dead bird, flipping it over and off the path.

"Eew… Raksha, what did you do to it?" asked Pippin, the least concerned hobbit of the bunch. But the way he looked at me suggested that he did not expect an answer. I snapped my jaws together with a crack and shook my head as though I was killing an animal that I had in my mouth. Pippin nodded in agreement to the action.

"You did indeed kill it, didn't you." He went to stand beside Gandalf. Aragorn beckoned the rest of the fellowship back along the road, and we set off again. Legolas pulled up beside me, placing his hand against my shoulder.

"That was quite the trick, for a wolf especially," he said in Sindarin. "And why were you so happy about the bird? About scaring Aragorn? I know that you have a fondness for Elladan and Elrohir, but it is not in your best interests to pester him."

In answer to his question, I reached out with my mind to him, and asked his subconscious permission to share with him the images in my brain. MindSpeech does not require consent, but sharing memories does. Thankfully, Legolas did allow me in.

I gave him the image of him standing in the sunlight, and the image of him in SoundSight, along with the feelings that accompany them. Legolas' reaction was one of startlement; he was unaware of the aura colour, that extra one that NightSongs can pick up on.

"_I__s this what you see from under the spell of invisibility?_" he asked, indicating the SoundSight image.

"_No, it is not. That is just how I generally see the world. You have heard of echolocation? Bats use it…"_

_"Y__es, I have. Wait a minute… are you saying—you're blind?!"_

_"D__o I act blind? Can I not recognise individuals by their face alone? No, I am not blind. That memory is one of SoundSight, using my ears in the place of my eyes. I can do it with almost all my other senses too: ScentSight, Infravision… I don't know what to call the use of whiskers to sense changes in the air, but that too. So no, I am not blind; I just can't use my eyes without using a certain amount of Fae energy." _Legolas began to understand, and he mentally nodded.

"S_o, you see like a bat, you smell like a mole, you feel like a cat and you can occasionally see like a… what? That memory is more vibrant than even any of _mine,_ and I have extraordinary vision."_ He compared a memory of me in the forest, when I was hunting the grizzly. I was curious to see what I looked like in his mind; I had never actually seen my werewolf body from the third person point of view.

I was surprised by what I saw: I look like a jackal! With my pointy muzzle, long ears and greyhound frame, the only difference being the coli ruff at my neck and my long and fluffy tail!

"_What is a jackal?"_ Legolas was confused, having never been far south enough to have ever seen the wild dogs. I showed him a picture of the lean dessert canine.

"_They live far to the south; I'm not even sure that you have them in Arda. But in any event, I can see like a NightSong Elf, a type that you do not have here at all for sure." _ In a hidden part of my mind, I said quietly, _because I am the only one who can be here…_

_"__You have a twin, don't you?"_ Legolas asked. He had caught the longing in my thoughts, even though he couldn't actually hear them. "_I have seen that emotion on Elladan and Elrohir's face when the other is gone elsewhere… what is he like?_

_"__You really are inquisitive, aren't you?"_ I was only slightly annoyed at his curiosity: it was not truly his fault.

"_Sorry."_ He wasn't, really, but my friend meant well. I decided to show him some of the things that best show who my brother is.

* * *

Several hours past as I described my brother and Legolas listened raptly. He drank in all the details, from physical to mental to mannerisms.

"_But if he is your twin, how is he not a wolf? For surely, you do not appear to be twins."_ He asked, and I did not answer directly, hesitating to tell him of the Change. But he was trust-worthy, so I said to him,

"_Follow me tonight and I will show you something I have only showed two others, those who are Elf-Lords. And know that I am placing a great deal of trust on your shoulders, for it is something I prefer not to do."_

Aragorn called a stop at the base of a large foothill, in the shadow of a giant boulder and in a grove of old, tall trees. Again camp was set up, and this time, I went for a quick hunting trip before everyone settled down to make dinner. I did not eat anything myself, but brought back a small, deer-like animal that I had no name for. It was not something I had ever seen before, but I had seen Boromir and Aragorn eat it on several different occasions, so I knew that it was not special.

Legolas stayed up his tree until darkness fell, and I curled around the base, feigning rest. Eventually, everyone else fell asleep, and I slipped off into the woods, standing to wait for Legolas to keep up. He moved with perfect grace and silence, but the tiny echoes of life all around us was enough for me to know every detail of his passage. He finally appeared from around a tree, curiosity written all over his face. He wanted to know what I would do.

"_Don't jump, and don't make any loud noises, got it?"_ I asked. He nodded.

I crouched low, pressing my belly to the ground, and began the change. Switching into NightSong form takes slightly longer than returning to the wolf, and is a fair bit more painful, but the lingering injuries such as torn muscles and cut lips last only moments. Seconds later, I lay curled in a tight ball on the soft ground, shaking off the last remains of the wolf. I yelped only once, when my teeth, still too long for my new, smaller mouth, slipped through my jaw, though that was swiftly remedied when my fangs retracted and my healing powers kicked in. Legolas gasped when he saw my ebony skin, my silver hair, my long nails and ears. To him, I was almost alien, and would be if I had not spent the whole day showing him pictures of my identical twin.

"Oh… by the Valar…" he looked nearly faint. I knew that he had never seen anything like that in his three thousand years of life.

Clothing is of no consequence to me, as NightSongs only wear clothing if they want to either accent their body or protect themselves from injury, but Legolas' blush at the state of my body made me realise that he would be most uncomfortable if I were to stand fully up right. And anyway, I am more than two feet taller than him. I stay low to the ground, and try to gauge his reaction without using my powers.

"He really is your twin, isn't he. You two are literally identical, in every aspect. Even I can see that." Legolas leaped up into the branches above his head and perched there, watching and sharing his observations with the tree, asking its advice on how to proceed.

"Relax, my young lord- I have not changed much on the inside. The tree will say the same." I said out loud, and Legolas

_"__Indeed, young Sindar, she has only changed her body. She yet remains your friend. Do not worry her with thoughts of fleeing."_ The tree was no more than a hundred years old, but it was wise with the knowledge of its parent trees, who must have been ancients. Legolas nodded his agreement, thanked the large plant, and hopped back down to the ground to stand in front of me.

"My apologies- I was only startled. And… I have no idea how to proceed." He likely did not mean to say it as such, but I knew it to be the truest thing he could have said. As a distraction, I decided on physical movement.

"Race me to the brook?" I asked him, and I put on a sly, playfull smile.

"You're on!" he said, and relief coloured his tone. We both dashed off, heading east towards the stream that we had passed a little while back on the road. Legolas dashed across the forest floor, quick as a rabbit, and I followed at a slight distance, leaping up through the trees. I let him win, then, when he was looking back into the shadowy forest after me, I tackled him around the waist and bore us both into the cold water.

When we came up, there was a few feet of distance and we were laughing our hearts out.

The walk back to the camp was a squashy one, with his clothing and my hair dripping water in icy rivulets, but any awkwardness was spent on laughing and communication. We were fast friends, and my heart was singing.

* * *

**I'm so sorry it took so long! I just didn't have the time to type nearly five thousand words, play guitar, socialise with friends, make my friend a birthday gift, and get some sleep, not to mention school work…****L**

**Thanks to CrazyPandaHobbit for the inspiring PM. Thanks to all those who reviewed, favourite and followed. Thanks to my music addiction (it lets me type without having to think!:) **

**I know a really pretty lullaby: Sleepsong, by Secret Garden. Y'all should check it out on YouTube.**

**And, I know a really sad lullaby: Mordred's Lullaby, by Heather Dale.**

**Both are really lovely, if you have any interest in Celtic music or dark fantasy. **

**PS: I happen to think that the name 'Ara' is really pretty; maybe I'll use it later?**


	6. Chapter 6

**I am so sorry that it took me so long, and that it's so short! I got a disturbing review that made me quite apprehensive about how I was changing character personalities in the beginning (sorry about that, by the way!)**

**And yes, there are differences between facts mentioned in previous chapters; do your best to filter them.**

**And now: CHAPTER 6!**

* * *

The next morning, Boromir and Aragorn and Gandalf contemplated our options for traveling. It was decided that we would attempt to traverse Caradhras, and if that failed, we would go to Moria. I was strongly against going to the mines, for I would be unable to keep my wolf form in the close tunnels and be forced to transform into the Elf form, and that would not do me any good, for half of the fellowship figured me to be nothing more than an unusual wolf. Plus, I don't have a cloak. I really hoped to go over Caradhras.

The approach to the mountain was mostly uneventful, with the hobbits talking animatedly amongst themselves, Aragorn chatting quietly with Gandalf, and Boromir eyeballing Legolas. I trotted at the front of the group, all senses on alert, though I expected that our worst enemy was to be the weather, not the orcs, when the air pressure dropped the higher we traveled. It was soon snowing lightly, but steadily, and it was soon up to the hobbits ankles. Each snowflake that landed on my nose made me shiver with the memory of Cold. I was not pleased.

The trek was long, and all who held no elven blood felt the cold acutely. Eventually, we were forced stop for the night with only the cliff face for shelter. All were complaining about the mountain being angry, but I sensed no magic in use, so I knew that that was not the cause of the freak snowstorm. But it was no less dangerous for the minor reassurance. As man, dwarf and even Elf failed to raise a flame amidst the swirling snow, the hobbits started to shut down. As Frodo, Merry, Pippin and eventually Sam all curled up in their nests of ice, I became concerned. I kept a bead on each little heartbeat, each faint breath. The little folk would not last long like this. I could hear their teeth clacking.

"This will not do, Gandalf," said Boromir, scooping Frodo up by thee feet, then setting him back upright. "They will not survive the night like this" Frodo sat back down and grumbled about being rudely awoken. Gandalf muttered under his breath, cursing necessity as he stuck the end of his staff into the woodpile. Green fire flew in all directions and a faint but noticeable wave of magic spread out over the land. I took note of the signature, for it would be useful in tracking Gandalf should he be lost to us. The wood caught, and we all hunkered down in the shadow of the giant rock.

The cold bothered me not, though I could feel my body temperature dropping to that of the surrounding stone. Legolas also was not bothered by it either, so when I lay down on the ground he leaned against my ribs, stroking the fur along my neck, and then playing with my paws, inspecting my toes, claws and wrists. I didn't mind; I know of the curiosity of Sylvan elves, and I am different from any other wolf.

The chattering teeth or the hobbits and the quivering shoulders of the men lessened some, but none was ever truly warm, or even cool. Merry eventually crawled over to lay next to my belly, but I knew that I was no warmer that the snow, colder even, perhaps, so I tugged him to lean on Legolas, who's body remained at a steady 45.2 degrees Celsius. Neither objected to the close proximity, Legolas even pulling the shivering hobbit onto his lap and wrapping his arms around him. Eventually, Merry peeked over Legolas' forearm and said to Pippin:

"Pip. Pip! Yes, you, you lazy chicken. Come over here, would you; he is warm!" he spoke animatedly, and pointed to the elf's leg.

Seconds later, Legolas was covered in icy little hobbit-sicles, four, to be exact. I chuckled to see his expression of annoyance and concern, and he slapped my shoulder. Then I was laughing and purring, for I was fond of him and meant no offense.

Aragorn turned his head stiffly to face us, and then fell over laughing. Boromir soon followed suit, and Gandalf even started chuckling.

"Merry, I hate you," Legolas said to the hobbit in his arms. "I'm never going to live this down."

* * *

Morning dawned, pale and frosty, and the company almost unanimously agreed to head back down the mountain.

The world was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, higher even than the hobbits heads. Their progress was slow, even with Aragorn and Boromir blazing the trail ahead of them. Gandalf did his best with his staff, but it was not nearly as effective as the men's arms. Legolas and I played catch and chase on top of the snow, our footsteps sinking no more than a few millimeters into the fluffy powder. My strides were longer and faster than his, so I started hiding behind snow drifts, rocks and trees, only to jump out at him as he passed, making him laugh when I startled him. We never strayed too far from the others, though, just in case something should happen. Even when Aragorn and Boromir forged ahead to find the road, we two remained behind with the dwarf, hobbits and wizard. Eventually the men returned, bearing news that the road was not far off, though there was a giant snow drift in the way.

Instead of making the men forge their way back through the snow, Legolas dashed off over the snow to the place where the men had turned back. Aragorn and Boromir sat down momentarily in the snow, and I perched above their heads. The hobbits and Gimli were not happy campers, having snow up to their necks and in their clothes, and a track too narrow for the hefty dwarfs comfort. All five complained loudly about their walking conditions in comparison to the taller folk, and they all cheered loudly when Legolas returned saying that the snow drift was only a foot thick. Boromir lifted both merry and Pippin, and, with both on his shoulders, he went back down the path that he had made. Aragorn followed with Frodo and Sam, then Gandalf and Gimli, and lastly Legolas and I.

* * *

**Legolas' POV**

The night had fallen long ago and starlight glinted through the trees when I learned why NightSong Elves are called what they are. Raksha had wandered off into the sunset some time ago, but the Song of Taure told me that she strayed not far from the drowsy camp.

Curious as to what she was planning to do, I followed her, silently and at a distance great enough that she would not 'see' me.

Raksha wandered around under the trees for quite some time before she did what I assumed she had come out to do. Leaping fifteen feet or so onto the top of a large boulder, Raksha turned to the sun and 'shifted back into her NightSong body. She settled cross legged on the ground, back stiff and ears resting their ends on the ground. I was almost out of hearing range, but I could catch the faintest sound of singing.

"Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep,"

My skin prickled, and I decided to move a bit closer, that I might hear more clearly. It took me only a second to descend the from the tree and move to another one.

"and, carry you down into sleep,

Child, the darkness will rise from the deep,

and carry you down into sleep."

Raksha's song was quiet, soft, but there was a menacing quality behind it that let it carry a greater distance through the evening air.

"Guileless son, I'll shape your belief, and you'll always know

that your father's a thief,"

Her voice rose and fell in a haunting, wavering tune that stirred my heart. She was very good at singing, and I knew that I would not move until the last note wavered off into silence.

"And you won't understand the cause of your grief,

but you'll always follow the voices beneath.

Loyalty, Loyalty, Loyalty...

Only to me…

"Guileless son, your spirit will hate her.

The flower who married my brother the traitor.

And you will expose his puppet behavior,

for you are the proof of how he betrayed her loyalty.

Loyalty... Loyalty ... Loyalty...

(only to me)

"Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep,

and carry you down into sleep,

child, the darkness will rise from the deep,

and carry you down into sleep.

Guileless son, each day you grow older,

each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold.

The child of my body, the flesh of my soul,

will die in returning the birthright he stole.

Loyalty, Loyalty, Loyalty...

Only to me…

Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep,

and carry you down into sleep,

child, the darkness will rise from the deep,

and carry you down into sleep…"

As the last note wavered off into silence, I finally stirred from my perch. Her song had awoken intense feelings of grief and sadness and loneliness in me. I suspected that they were not my own, though, for I had never felt the like in my entire life. My knees felt slightly weak as I landed on the ground at the base of the tree. I held my head in my hands for several minutes, trying sort out all the turmoil in my mind.

"Legolas," a cool voice spoke behind me and to the right. "Good evening."

I whipped around to face Raksha, frustrated at myself for not noticing her movements. "Raksha. It is, isn't it?" I lifted my head and turned, meeting her enormous metallic eyes. She was standing fully upright, towering over me and unabashedly naked. She smiled at me, just a faint twitch of her midnight lips, then she turned and started walking towards the camp. A stray tear trickled down my face, a reaction to all the negative emotions I was feeling. I whipped it away briskly, stifling them, and strode after the strange creature who so bemused me. Her long strides had placed her nearly fifty meters ahead of me, and I dashed to keep up.

"That was a fool move, on your part," her voice was condescending. "You are lucky that I sang only a simple lullaby, and that it was in Sindarin. Had I been singing in Canticum, you likely would have killed yourself."

"I am sorry—I did not know." I said in reply, truthfully.

"I know," she spoke kindly, taking a step back. She transformed back into a wolf, taking me quite by surprise. Dipping her canine head, she gently nudged my neck with her nose. "_And I forgive you, Young One"_she turned off again, and I followed her closely, taking four steps for every one of her long strides.

* * *

"Why did you call me 'young one'? Surely I am older than you?" I finally asked the question that was on my mind.

"_Nope. I am pretty sure that I am older."_ Raksha was walking behind me, the last in the long line of chatting walkers.

"How old are you, then? For I am no youngling." I had lived for a pretty long time, by the standards of most races.

"_Roughly six times the age of Lord Elrond. Work it out, for that is the straightest answer I will give. And Legolas? Young One is an endearment, where I come from._" With that, she slipped into the brush and disappeared.

I did my best to remember how old Elrond was. Old, I knew, somewhere around six or seven thousand years. I knew not how many exactly, though Aragorn did. Ducking around everyone else, I pulled up beside him.

"Estel- how old is Elrond?" I whispered in his ear, speaking in Westron and making him jump a little. Still walking, he looked at me curiously.

"Why do you want to know?" this was not my usual line of questioning, we both knew.

"Humor me, would you?" I pleaded.

"He's some six thousand, two hundred fifty odd years old. Why do you want to know?"

"I need to find the answer to a mathematical equation in which Elrond's age is the variable." Aragorn frowned, and then started up his customary dialogue for when we walked together. I tuned him out.

Six times six thousand two hundred fifty would be… I contemplated for a moment, making groups in my head.

She was thirty seven thousand, five hundred years old. _That is one old wolf_, I thought. And yet she seems so young, even for an Elf! It must have been the way she walked, up on her toes, heels never even touching the ground, or perhaps that slightly inquisitive look on her delicate features that made it seem as though she was taking everything in. A constant state of learning. That was it.

* * *

(At the Hollin Door, back entrance to Moria, deep evening.)

**Third Person POV**

SPLASH! Pippin threw a stone into the black lake, and watched the heavy ripples spread gelatinously away from the rock. Every member of the fellowship turned on him, spitting mad and angry. The great wolf rumbled threateningly, the blond Elf hissed and the dwarf grumbled something about the antics of hobbits. Both men and the wizard shushed him. Merry, Sam and Frodo flinched. Then, when nothing happened, they all went back to contemplating the mysteries of the stone wall and the brilliant silver lines.

"Gandalf, what is the elvish word for 'friend'?" Frodo asked suddenly from his place on a large boulder.

"Hum? Oh, it is _mellon._" Even as the last sound left his tongue there was a great hissing sound and the decorated cliff face swung open on silent (almost; Raksha noted the faintest scraping sound) hinges.

"Bless my beard, Frodo! The answer was right there, and I couldn't even see it!"

Releasing Bill the pony, and eliciting a slight sob from Sam, who had grown exceptionally fond of the little horse, everyone hurried into the dark stairway. Raksha hesitated before she ducked in: something was amiss, a strange scent setting the air humming and raising the fur along her neck. But the great beast forced herself to continue forward into the close caves. Frodo followed right on her heels, the last to reach the doors.

The sound of movement in the water set the huge black shadow into a flurry of movement. As the slimy grey-green tentacle closed its grip around Frodo's ankle, Raksha's long fangs buried deep unto another reaching limb, tearing it nearly in half. An alarm was called, and arrows pierced the writhing mass of tentacles. Gimli's axe removed the arm holding Frodo just as he neared the water, and Boromir's sword wreaked havoc. The air was filled with battle cries and great thuds of sword on bone and a great tearing of flesh, all layered over a painfully high hissing keen. As soon as Frodo was safe, Gandalf shouted for everyone to flee back to the tunnels.

The doors were slammed closed just inches in front of Raksha's bloody muzzle, plunging all ten adventurers into pitch blackness. A great crashing and squealing of stone fell just outside the gates, and Gandalf whispered that the way was blocked now—they had to go onward.

* * *

**Raksha's POV**

The tunnels provoked conflicting emotions throughout me: I was born to range deep underground, but my body was restricted by its size. It made me anxious, and I did not like that a bit. Cleaning the blood of the Kraken out of my fur as we walked, I could hear Gimli telling us of what a welcome we would receive, and I had not the heart to tell him that the only things living in here would sooner destroy us than even look at us. The only echoes of life were the goblins mining their gold and the trolls stomping around, many levels down.

Two hundred stairs later, we reached an enormous welcoming hall, and while the humanoids sight was limited to the small circle of light produced by Gandalf's staff, I could see clearly the mess of ancient destruction. Dwarf bodies, mummified with age and riddled with arrows fletched so badly I was amazed that they had even found their marks, lay where they had fallen. My heart protested violently against the massive loss of life, and the urge to Sing nearly stole my breath. Such a toll should not have to be paid in defense of ones homeland…

As a conscious effort of will, I contained the howl, if only momentarily. A heavy groan slipped through my teeth though, and my head tipped back. I heard a small gasp, and knew that Legolas saw, too. My chest hurt with the instinctual urge, and I whined reflexively.

"What's she going on about—Gandalf give us a little more light! My kin should be near!" Gimli spoke in Westron, and I struggled to translate it to a language I understood. As Gandalf increased the illumination, Legolas said, softly,

"Gimli… they are here." He spoke in the common tongue again, but his accent aided my brain. Then Gimli saw that which we had, and he roared in anger and sadness, running frantically around between bodies.

His unpredictable actions startled me enough that my self-control slipped, and I let the howl out. Thankfully, it started low enough that no one was disturbed, but the release of feeling drew it higher. Now that it was free, so was I, and I let all the stress of the past few months out. I sang of my grief at this ancient tragedy. I sang of the injury to the Kraken, and the burden that little Frodo had to carry. My voice was half the song of a NightSong Elf and half that of a lost wolf. It was a fitting backdrop to this scene of carnage.

"Goblins!" Legolas hissed quietly and angrily, pulling an arrow out of someone's rib cage. All fell silent and everyone returned to Gandalf.

"I feared it would be so," Gandalf replied. "This will complicate our journey somewhat, I think."

But we carried on anyway.

* * *

**Guest Reviewer: Thank you for expressing your opinions so well—most of it was useful, though the angry manner in which you wrote all nine (good) points made me slightly depressed and put me off typing for three days. And yes, I know that I twisted several personalities. And Raksha****_ is_**** a little bit of a Mary-Sue, too, though "that event" happened far (a thousand years) into the past. Sorry for not warning you, but I had no space in the description to say "AU/Mary-Sue".**

**Nanny: Oh good, you figured out how to review! (thank you, by the way! :) **

**To everyone else who has sent a (Nice) review, Thank you!**

**To everyone who has read but did not review, SHAME! That big grey-ish box beside that weird ad is calling you… can you hear it? (Hint: its telling you to write something!:) **


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

My pelt itched and crawled as I struggled not to transform. I knew it would bring relief to the close space, but my opinion was that no one needed an extra fright today, what with the Kraken and the entrance tomb. The last thing they needed was an invisible (black skin, black shadows…) predatory Elf stalking through the near shadows. I knew that eventually my health would start to deteriorate, for werewolves do not go underground for a reason: the earth is our bane, and physical movement is our life. If I can't run and jump or do anything other than walk, I will start to Fade.

Legolas noticed my shaking and placed a hand on my shoulder, lending me his moral support. A grateful hum starts in my chest, and I rest my nose on his head. but there is nothing that he can do to stop it, and my shivering turns to violent twitching as we proceed down the awfully tight tunnel. Bones creaked inaudibly in my legs, spine and head. my jaw cracked out of place three times in as many hours, and only my will power kept me from shifting, but even that was running low. My whole body ached, and I began to lean into Legolas' hand, until I was resting most of my meager weight on him.

I can proudly say that I lasted four and a half hours. Then I keeled against the wall, nearly crushing Legolas as I did so. My head cracked onto the stone wall, then my nose on the ceiling as my neck spasmed.

"Gandalf!" Legolas cried when he found that he had no idea as to what was wrong with me. "Gandalf, something's wrong!"

The wizard rushed back through the group with a firm order to move no further down the tunnel without his aid. His grey robes fluttered in the speed of his travel. Once at the rear of our little caravan, he stopped, considering for just a moment. Then he slapped my shoulder with the butt of his staff and said quite loudly:

"Gust change, you stupid werewolf!" I didn't do it consciously; it just came as a loud scrape of bones and cartilage, then a feeling of vast relief. I collapsed fully to the ground and just lay there for a second, adjusting my NightSong senses back to those necessary for living underground. With my return to the body of my birth, internal functions that are incompatible with the Wolf started up again, though slower than usual. Infravision, the most useful sense next to hearing, would come once my natural resistance to negative magic caught back up.

With my ears back though, I had no need. Echoes and noises and vibrations in the stone told me exactly what was around us for many miles in every single direction. I sighed in contentment; this is what it is to be alive for me.

"Ready," I whispered past my fangs, and we were off again. Gandalf moved back up to the front, leading the way down the cavern. I felt completely at home, and my slender body flicked through the darkness like a fish through water.

Oh, I was glad to be back underground.

* * *

**Legolas' POV**

I watched in slight awe as Raksha fell back into the shadows behind, her ebony skin and silver hair blending perfectly, only to turn and find that she was standing not five feet in front of me. my shock must have shown on my face, for she giggled, and it was like the laughing burble of a stream. In the three weeks that I had known her, I had never seen her so joyous. It was refreshing, and I soon found myself laughing alongside her. She did a few tricks (such as running along the walls, and blending into the shadows and appearing somewhere impossible, like the roof), then sobered slightly and walked beside me, on her hands and feet. Her body was evidently built for this, I noted, for her odd feet and long neck made the pose seem natural.

Her hair was evidently bothering her, though. It kept falling off of her back and into her face, the long silver strands catching in her… talons, and tangling her arms. It was amusing to watch her trying to twist it back without standing directly upright and hitting her head on the ceiling. After half an hour of struggling in silence, she slipped up ahead through the ranks of hobbits, men, the dwarf and wizard and disappeared into the darkness up ahead, eliciting surprised yelps when they saw her dash over their heads along the roof. I kept my silence, and we all walked forward again. My eyes were growing weary of the constant dimness, and I longed to feel the sun on my face again.

I scoffed at myself. We had only been in this treacherous tube for a few hours! _Ah, I am so weak minded_, I thought. _I can't even be underground for a whole day without longing for the light of day!_

* * *

**Third person POV**

It was not far ahead that the company found Raksha, seated on a ledge at the wall opposite the fork in the road. Her hands flew almost faster than sight as she braided her silver tresses in many skin-tight plaits, each no wider than one slender black finger, then bound the loose ends up in a stiff leather strap.

Gimli, Boromir, Aragorn, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, even Gandalf, can say that they were unsurprised all they want: that won't change the fact that each one of them felt a moment of terror and confusion when they saw the shifting, shimmering shadow perched at eye height right in front of their faces. Gimli even screamed, though he would deny it ever after. Raksha flinched violently at the high-pitched noise, but did not open her eyes.

Once her hair was fully secured, Raksha hopped gracefully back to the floor. She slunk into an open door way, and everyone settled back.

"Gandalf, what _was that?_" Pippin inquired. "it was… scary!" he shuddered exaggeratedly.

"That, my dear Took, is our resident werewolf. You may perhaps know her as, _Raksha._ Fear not—she has been with us the entire time and poses no threat." Even as he said these words, his eyes were rapidly blinking; after his many thousands of years of life, it was hard for him to find something of which he knew next to nothing of. In response to Gandalf calling her a "Non-Threat", Raksha growled at them from the other room.

"_Sorry,_" he whispered to her, knowing that she would hear. The deep rumble stopped. Gandalf led the others after her into the next chamber.

"Here is as good a place to rest as any: I know not which path to take from here, for this room did not exist when last I came through!"

All the races settled themselves on the floor, sharing out food and water, and glancing nervously for the strange and dangerous-looking shape that Raksha now occupied.

Raksha herself was nowhere to be found—she had run as fast as she could (which is very, very fast) down the lowest tunnel. It had been days since she had hunted, and cave creatures were her specialty. It would be a while before the rest of the fellowship saw her again.

* * *

"So," Aragorn asked Gandalf. "What was wrong with the wolf… er, Raksha?" he corrected his slip, hesitating for a moment before he remembered her name. Gandalf, and Legolas, who was seated not two feet to the old Maia's right, frowned at him, but Gandalf let it slide and explained what he knew.

"I already told you that she is a werewolf, though SkinChanger would be a more appropriate label. Apparently, she prefers to spend her time as a wolf, perhaps to hide from the elements beneath the pelt of fur, or mayhap to suppress memories, I know not. But either way, being underground strengthened her other side, I am assuming, and caused whatever was about her to reject the wolf body. So basically, she near about killed herself in an effort not to scare you all."

"_And a little bit of thanks would not be missed, thank you very much."_ Only the three-Aragorn, Gandalf and Legolas- heard the musical voice in their head.

"Who knew—she has a temper!" Gandalf chuckled.

"_Don't think that I won't eat you, old man—I have yet to find something worth killing, and I am hungry. And,_" she added. "_it is within my power to do so!"_

"And she has incredible hearing!" Legolas said, and the phantom presence in their head seemed appeased, for she withdrew back to her hunt.

Aragorn and Legolas struck up a conversation, and it was clear what the blonde Elf thought of the shapeshifter. Aragorn was confused, until Legolas mentioned her singing, and then he understood. His friend had a soft spot in his heart for music. His own mother had been a musician, before she had sailed. Any sweet melody reminded him of her. Gandalf just tat there, staring into space, with his staff over his knees lighting the room.

* * *

Raksha dropped headfirst down a long, deep hole in the floor of the cave, landing on her hands and bounding off along the walls, each reaching stride taking her thirteen and a half body lengths in zero point zero three two seven seconds, exactly. The next hole, located near about a mile away, was full of water, as were the rest of the lower floors, with the exception of the Great Chasm, wherein evil burned bright with malice to her heat-seeking eyes. Moments later, she twisted around and dove into the water.

Had she only her eyes and ears to rely on, she would have been blind, but her skin, which covered more nerve cells than could be found in one hundred humans or seventy nine elves, detected where each wall was, and she could hear a bit, too, once her ears were all the way full of the cold liquid.

Things stirred in the depths below her, but they moved away from the ebony creature, no thought of killing her in their subdued brains—she would have their tentacled heads in a second if she felt threatened.

She swam strongly, her slender, neutrally buoyant frame needing only the occasional boost to keep up an impressive speed that even the Watcher in the Lake would be jealous of. Turning down several tunnels, she found what she was looking for—a deep-lake saberdile, a creature from the Otherworld that must have swam through a darkness portal.

The thing was large, roughly the size of a dog, with four flipper limbs, a long tail, feathery gills like a salamander, thick, slimy skin and a head like a crocodile with teeth four times as long. In the second it took for the freakish creature to notice her approach, Raksha had the thing's neck in her hands and was twisting sharply. The aquatic creature twitched violently, twice, then died. Raksha tasted faintly the bland blood that trickled out from under her fingernails and from the saberdile's mouth. Swimming more with her feet, the NightSong dragged her food back to dry land, where she could eat without choking on water.

Even as she leaped up out of the hole in the main tunnel and cleared the water from her ears, she knew that something had changed: there was a new set of vibrations in the stone, very faint but still there, coming from the direction of the nine companions. Unsure of whether it was hostile or not, Raksha gripped her prey's sodden corpse by its shoulders and ran back through the mines to the guard room wherein the fellowship was to rest.

She wanted to keep an eye on things.

* * *

**Raksha's POV**

The saberdile was hardly enough weight to slow me at all—in fact, it weighed very little, to me at least—but it's tail was long enough to trip me on several occasions. I hissed through my teeth at it, but kept on running. A fierce protectiveness had arisen in me, and it would not be denied.

It was a surprise to me: I had only ever felt this way with Arwen, Elrohir and Elladan. But whatever the new cave-goer was, it would not take anyone by surprise, least of all me.

Upon reaching the cross roads with the old guard room, I settled myself in the doorway to eat my food. Legolas heard the slap of its carcass hitting the stone floor, and got up to join me in the darkness. As his hearing was too poor to serve as vision, I invited him to share mine. His subconscious allowed me entry, and I melded our minds, just enough that he could see as I see. He gasped in amazement: it was not something he was used to. The eves of middle-earth lack Infravision, SoundSight, HyperNerves and all the other things that are needed underground, so he was unaccustomed to seeing the varying shades of heat, or hearing the shape of an object, or feeling the faintest vibrations of movement miles below.

As he sat against the wall, I began my meal. Peeling off the skin, I set it aside for later. It was not good for eating. I nibbled the flesh from its belly first, my teeth slicing it into bite sized pieces with no effort on my part. Legolas seemed a little nauseated when he noticed what I was eating: I don't think he had ever seen a saberdile, and would gladly have lived his life out without the honor. Even I have to admit, they are not particularly lovely to behold. But they taste okay, and are quite a nuisance, so I have no problem eating the occasional one. And, as an added benefit, they are not intelligent in the least, so I don't have to worry myself over a loss of sentient life.

* * *

The slapping footsteps approached the company, nearing by a few more meters before they ceased for the rest of the night.

I would deal with it come the morning: for now, I had to dispose of the saberdile's bones.

* * *

**I'm sorry, guys: this chapter is even shorter than the last one, by two or three hundred words!**

**I FEEL SHAME! **

**But if you wouldn't mind, reviews are much appreciated! Plus, I need new ideas!**

**Also, I may post links to my illustrations on deviant art to my profile. If you want to see my versions of my characters, you should check it out.**

**Ridiculous and inappropriate! **

**I**

**I**

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**V**


	8. Chapter 8

Shadow Song chapter 8

* * *

"Gandalf! I think something is following us—there are eyes in the dark." Frodo whispered urgently to the wizard.

"Yes, my dear Frodo, there is. He has followed us for several days, and on several occasions I have had to remind our most… unusual… companion not to kill him." Gandalf looked pointedly at me. I stuck my tongue out at him. He frowned at me, and it was comical enough that I laughed as I loped ahead.

We were almost to the main cavern of Dwarrowdelf, the dwarf city, and I could feel each stirring in the deep caverns, as goblins, orcs, trolls and something far larger moved through the earth. My skin shivered on my shoulders at the thought of a possible battle: I knew exactly where to find a suitable weapon for range fighting, and if I could locate a sword or elvish scimitar or even a good staff, I would be set to burn some excess energy. I bared my teeth in a grin, accidently slicing my lip on the serrated edges of the four long canines—it had been a fair while since I had last worn this sadistic expression. Just four thousand years or so.

Upon entering the massive cavern, I had the unnerving feeling of being small. That was one of my few weaknesses: I don't take well to domination of any sort. Old insecurities awoke in me, and I folded myself into the niche by the door. Even as I curled myself into as tight a ball as I could manage, I remembered. Other NightSong children taunting my brother for his feminine looks, and his sorrow and anger being transferred to me. Being taken captive as an Elfling and being tortured until I bent to Iblith's will. The terrible pain of the many deaths I suffered at his hands (yes, our bodies will heal even after death, provided that there is enough Fae energy in them.). I felt tears on my legs and belly, but when I sniffed the air, I smelled not the icy metallic tang of NightSong tears but the sickly sweet scent of my own blood.

Startled, I uncurled myself and, in order to use enough energy to see for a few seconds, I teleported to one of the shafts of moonlight. My eyesight came back even as I murmured a prayer of forgiveness to Aulë. I saw the glittering lavender blue streaks on my fingers. Confusion welled up inside of me—what was wrong with me? I had never heard of this happening to a NightSong Elf. I had never heard of this happening to a wolf, either. Only humans, and then rarely. I was completely unsure of what was happening to me, a wild tangle of negative emotions swirling inside of me, horror and confusion and dreadful nostalgia being only a part of them. Even as my sight faded back to silver and red and orange, fresh bloody tears ran over my cheekbones.

I swear, I'm not emotional. Ever. But I was then. My hands were shaky, my knees so weak that I had to sit down or risk falling. The muscles in my back were shivering as though I were cold, though the air was pleasantly warm. I felt somewhat sick.

Eventually, the fellowship arrived, and apparently decided to pause for rest. The moon had long since moved to the other side of the mountain, and I was invisible to them, in the pitch dark. I could see Legolas keeping an ear out for my approach, though he knew not where I was. Time had no meaning anymore, that is to say that I could not accurately track it's passing through my shock, but it seemed to take them a while to notice that something was wrong.

* * *

**Third person POV**

"Gandalf, what is that scent?" Legolas looked to the wizard from his place in the alcove where I had hidden from the huge room. "It smells like a dying corpse flower." The wizard glanced around and tested the air with his nose.

"I smell nothing," was his answer.

"Come over here, then—it is strong enough that even you should be able to detect it." Legolas responded, and the wizard rose to join him near the wall. He bent his great grey beard towards Legolas' hole. The Elf slipped out so that his own forest scent would not mask the curious odour. As he scuttled forward, his slender fingers brushed through something sticky, like evergreen pitch. He raised his fingers to his nose and sniffed delicately… and near about fell over with shock, for he recognised the deathly scent as the luminescent blood that coursed through Raksha's veins. A dreadful worry for his friend sank claws into his heart.

"Never mind, Gandalf. I have found the source." He held his hand closer to the wizards glowing staff, and the blue light reflected off the purple streaks on his fingers. "It's Raksha's blood."

"Oh, dear. Something must have happened. Does anyone know where Raksha is?" Gandalf spoke the last part to the rest of the company. Each shook their head, with murmurs of 'no, I don't, do you?'

Raksha had finally managed to calm herself into a state of numbness, so she managed to make a sort of grunting sound that could have meant 'I'm here', or 'come again?'. In the large, echoing chamber, even Gimli the dwarf heard it. Legolas zeroed in on the faint sound and quickly leaped off into the darkness. Aragorn and Boromir both stood to follow, but the elf disappeared as soon as he left Gandalf's circle of light. The wizard himself stepped out slowly, as of yet still unsure of the blonde elf's location in the dark.

About ten paces from their resting place by the door, the wizard started to hear faint muttering and hissing whispers. At fifteen paces, the remaining company could see two opposite shapes in the darkness ahead, like yin and yang. Legolas was on his knees with his hand on Raksha's shoulder, crooning softly in Sindarin. The black skinned elf replied in that weird language that no one from Arda could emulate, staring straight ahead, unblinking. Legolas shook her gently, trying to make her look into his eyes, but she barely seemed to notice his presence.

"Raksha! Tell me what's wrong!" the Sindarin elf tapped her hollow looking cheek with his hand, finally getting a response. Of a sort.

"Nothing," her tone was flat as she spoke the words in Sindarin. "I am unharmed." He was relieved that she was finally speaking his language, and that she was physically fine. The men and wizard and all four hobbits hung back quietly, sensing that it was not their place to intervene. Elves would be elves, and mortals would do well to keep to their own business.

* * *

**Aragorn's POV**

Seeing the two elves kneeling at the base of the massive pillar, I knew that I would not be necessary, or wanted.

A shiver ran up my spine like icy fingers as the glassy, blank copper eyes stared unfocusedly in our direction. Raksha's ears were droopy and limp looking, and were it not for her totally alien appearance, I would have felt a heavy wave of pity for her. As it was, I was only marginally sorry for her: I did not know her well enough to really feel much else.

Knowing that Legolas would eventually find out what was wrong, I returned to our bags and sat down to wait. Annoyance flared in my chest: so far, the wolf—Elf—Thing, was more trouble than she was worth. _At least we don't have to feed it,_ was all I could think before I let myself sleep.

* * *

**Third person POV**

The coming day found the fellowship trudging through the darkness if the lower tunnels, towards the bridge of Kazhad Dum, and their freedom. With goblins, orcs, and a balrog on their tails, and the most dangerous among them missing down a long tunnel that lead back the way they had come, even the older and stronger elf felt terror gripping his heart. Gandalf lead them unfailingly downwards, and it was with great relief that the nine, minus Raksha, finally reached the stair that led to the bridge shelf. The pursuing balrog's footsteps, each one a minor earthquake, caused the stairs to collapse and break, nearly sending Pippin into a four hundred meter free fall. Even as Gimli expressed how he felt about being thrown, the stairs behind collapsed, and Frodo and Aragorn were stranded on a swaying island of stone. Legolas beckoned urgently for them to jump, but the swaying motion made them unsteady, and Aragorn refused to take that risk. Instead, he threw his body weight against the edge of the crumbling stair pillar, and waited for it to tip closer before he grabbed Frodo and leaped. Legolas steadied him. And the three took off after the dwarf, man, wizard and hobbits.

Finally at the bottom, Gandalf ushered everyone past him and onto the bridge, doing a quick head count. _One, two, three…seven eight and nine… where's ten?_ He looked for Raksha, not really expecting to see her, especially not in this elemental darkness where she was so at home. But even as he crossed to the middle of the bridge, and the balrog rounded the corner, a tall figure could be seen loping calmly along near the edge of the bottomless chasm. Her floor length silver hair fluttered out behind her, and Gandalf could perceive the wickedly long fangs that she bared in an angry, rippling snarl. Her coal black skin seemed to shine with the light of the Eldar, and her heavily slanted eyes were open and alert. At her growl, the balrog turned to her. His _head_ was half as big as she was, and it figured that the deathly skinny black creature would not be much of a threat. His target was the fellowship, and the little insect was in his way. Gandalf watched in mounting horror as the great winged beast swing its flaming whip at her. Just before the moment of fatal contact, Raksha seemed to freeze, standing as still as though she were made of stone. Then the three pronged whip struck—and passed right through the illusion. With a grunt of confusion, the less than clever creature looked at his whip with surprise: he was good!

Then there was a sound behind it, a deep, echoing roar that the balrog had never encountered before: the roar of a Pyrosaur, a flaming dinosaur, much akin to T-rex, which was definitely not native to Arda. The major differences being that the Pyrosaur was covered in flames, and many times larger than tyrannosaurus rex. This creature was new, and the balrog knew that it would be hard pressed to throw this particular enemy into the pit, seeing as it was many times larger than the balrog. A battle of epic proportions was about to take place, and they all knew it. Everyone but Raksha looked frightened of the Pyrosaur, including Gandalf.

Raksha dissolved herself into nothing and reappeared right next to the wizard on the narrow bridge and pulled him backwards. But a voice in her head, loud and clear as the darkness that was held at bay by the flaming monsters, told her that if she continued, fate would change in this world, key events would never come about, and the entire world would fall to darkness. Hearing the words spoken to her in MindSpeech, she knew that it was Aulë, lord of the earth, and the most accepting of the Valar. She dematerialized again, reappearing at the other side, right behind Boromir.

"Come!" she cried, and all eight startled quite badly. "Come, we must hurry." Even as they began moving away, Frodo cried, "Gandalf!" and strained against Raksha's skeletal hand against his shoulders. The balrog, seeing its original prey escaping, kicked mightily against the Pyrosaur and rounded on Gandalf.

"YOU SHAL NOT PASS!" Gandalf hollered, and Raksha instantly turned her ears down to help mute it. There was enough noise without people screaming their heads off.

The balrog struck, the bridge crumbled, and it was over.

"Run, you fools." Gandalf gasped, even as he was pulled over the edge.

There was a moment of shocked silence, then the crying and wailing started. To make matters worse for Raksha, her Pyrosaur hatchling started complaining of bruised ribs and an empty belly, tipping its huge square head up to howl like a wolf. Raksha knew it would be a long time before her ears stopped ringing.

Using MindSpeech, Raksha told the baby that it could return to the Otherworld, and instantly it disappeared. Then came the task of getting everyone out of the caves before the orcs and goblins found a way around the chasm. To her surprise, it was Boromir who helped her most. Everyone else had gone as numb as she had been earlier.

**Outside, an hour later**

"We must go," Aragorn said briskly, and Boromir gave him a dirty look.

"Just let them grieve, would you? They have been through much." He gestured to the puffy eyed hobbits. Behind him, Raksha chuffed, picking up Sam and twisting to place him on her back. She did the same with the other three, and each continued to cry wretchedly on each other's shoulders.

"_They can grieve on my back on my back as we walk; Aragorn is right. There will be orcs swarming this place in a matter of hours." _As she was back in her wolf form, only Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas could hear the sing-song words in their heads. Gimli grumbled morosely on his rock, and when the massive canine strode past, Legolas touched his shoulder gently to tell him that they were leaving.

"Lothlorien is only two days march from here; we should make it by dawn on the second day."

* * *

**I feel like a bad person! I haven't updated in, like, two weeks, and the quality of my story has decreased dramatically as I move into unfamiliar territory. can you tell that I ran out of ideas?**

**And yes, the Pyrosaur was only a baby, and one that Raksha was raising in the Otherworld.**

**My scanner is not working, so none of my pictures have been posted yet:( its really too bad...**

**Please review, as it means a lot to me and positive reinforcement is proven to improve quality in work. I am kind of sad: twenty eight and a half thousand words and only 16 reviews?**


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